


The Taming

by dr_girlfriend



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, F/M, Feral Behavior, Not Gonna Tag Every Sex Act Just Trust Me There's Plenty, Rogan, Romance, Slow Build, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 79,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_girlfriend/pseuds/dr_girlfriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue believes isolation is the key to controlling her mutation, but is she really as alone as she thinks? My usual - AU, good spelling and grammar, a happy ending, etc. Pure Rogan (Wolverine/Rogue).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Test

**Author's Note:**

> I write fanfiction for fandom spaces. Please do not add my fics to Goodreads or other indexing sites, excerpt them for press, or in other ways share them outside of fandom spaces. Thanks!

"Just as we practiced, Rogue." Xavier's calm voice washed over her. "Deep breaths. No fear."

Marie nodded, her eyes closed tight, trying to keep her breathing deep and even as they had practiced for months in their meditation sessions.

_Concentrate_ , she told herself.  _You can do this. No fear. No fear..._

She opened her eyes. Hank's furry blue face looked back at her, his expression unafraid and empathetic.

_Dear, sweet, Hank_. He had volunteered for this, knowing that a little bit of feral and fur would be more manageable for her than telepathy or optic blasts or control over bolts of lightning, and that his strength would hold him in good stead if she...

_Don't think it,_ she admonished herself.  _You're not gonna fail. You're not gonna hurt him. No fear, no fear..._

She stretched her arm slowly outward to where Hank's hand lay, palm relaxed and open on his knee.

She kept her eyes on Hank, listening only to the Professor's voice, trying to tune out his presence otherwise and completely ignore Jean where she hovered by the crash cart. Much as she understood the necessity of it, she hated that Jean had insisted on doing this in the medlab. The sterile room was so different from the Professor's study where she had practiced her meditation. All the stark metal...

She froze as she suddenly felt Magneto stirring in her head behind the barriers she had constructed to contain him.

_Concentrate, Marie_ , she told herself again fiercely. Another deep breath and Magneto was silenced.

"Very good, Rogue," Xavier said soothingly. "Now continue."

_No fear, no fear..._

The distance between herself and Hank seemed endless as her arm inched forward, index finger outstretched.

_You won't hurt him. No fear...God, please don't let me hurt him...no fear..._

"Concentrate, Rogue." Xavier's voice remained calm, but her long familiarity with him allowed her to hear the extra note of tension in his words.

Her index finger was a bare inch from Hank's rough blue palm.

_No fear, no fear...I can't hurt him, not Hank..._

Against her will images flooded her mind. Hank's sympathetic face, his steady support over tea and Twinkies whenever she needed it. And then in an instant the image changed to one of that dear face turning pale, black veins popping up under the blue fur, his body writhing in helpless agony as she drained the life from him...

She tried to control her thoughts, tried to manage her breathing, but just a hair's breadth from Hank's skin the index finger she held outstretched started to tremble...

With a gasp she jerked her hand back, clenching her gloveless fists in her lap. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to hold back the tears of frustration and despair.

"It is all right, Rogue. We can try again," Xavier said consolingly.

"No." Her voice was flat and final. She kept her eyes closed. She couldn't stand to see the disappointment in their faces. "I can't do it. I just can't."

"With more preparation..."

"Just...no. No more." She jumped to her feet, swiping angrily at her eyes, despising her weakness. "We've had months of preparation. _Months_. And I'm no closer than I was the day we started."

"That is not the case, Rogue. Your mental barriers are getting stronger every day..."

"But that's different, isn't it? At least do me the courtesy of telling me the truth, Charles," she snapped.

She saw a shadow pass through his eyes and she sucked in a surprised breath as she realized what she had called him.

"Professor," she corrected herself, clamping down again on the Magneto in her head. That bastard never missed a trick. He had taken advantage of her anger to try to slip out again. So much for the strength of her barriers.

"You are just upset, Rogue," Xavier said, reading her thoughts. "And understandably so. But you have made exceptional progress with your barriers."

She took in a deep shaky breath, her anger leaving her in a rush. Now she just felt cold and empty inside.

"But I'm right, aren't I? Controllin' the personalities in my head...that's mental. Controllin' the fear of my skin...that's emotional, and it's a totally different thing. And I'm not any better at it now than I was the day we started."

She cringed at the way her Southern accent was coming out thick in her voice, a clearer sign of her distress than even her tears.

Hank cleared his throat and then spoke, his voice gentle. "Knowing that your mutation is defensive was an enormous breakthrough, Rogue."

She managed a shaky smile. "I know, Hank, and I appreciate all the work you put into that." The smile faded. "But in the end...does it really matter? As long as my mutation has been active, I've done nothin' but hurt people. Askin' me not to be afraid of that, to turn it off somehow? It's like askin' the sun not to shine. I don't know how to stop it from happenin'. It's even worse, knowin' that there is a way to stop it, but it's so far out of my reach that it might as well not even exist. I couldn't stop it when Magneto had me screamin' in that machine of his, an' I can't stop it now..."

She stopped, the lump in her throat choking her. She breathed in deeply through her nose, trying to calm herself so she could get the words out. "Maybe it's just time I admit that this is the way it's gonna be. Forever."

"Rogue..."

She held up her hand, stopping Xavier's words.

"I realize this must be disappointin' to y'all. You've worked as hard on this as I have. But maybe it's time...maybe it's time I just gave up. I think keepin' on hopin' like I have been...It's just too hard. I can't do it anymore. I'm sorry."

She felt the tears welling up again, and knew she had to leave before they broke free. She looked from Xavier to Hank to Jean, wishing she could make them understand better than her meager words could convey.

"I'm sorry," she said again, and then walked quickly from the room.

* * *

Xavier looked at Hank as Jean rolled the crash cart back into the storage closet.

"That was unfortunate," Hank offered.

"Yes, it was," Xavier agreed.

"Perhaps she will reconsider."

"Perhaps." Xavier sighed. "But somehow I do not think so. Rogue has always been an exceptionally determined young woman, but we all have our limits."

They sat in silence for a long moment.

"Any other thoughts, my friend?" Hank finally inquired.

Xaver rubbed his chin. "Only one. It has been in the back of my mind for quite some time. It is...quite...extreme. A last resort, if you will. But perhaps...perhaps Rogue has come to that."

* * *

[Please review! :-D]

 

 


	2. The Gamble

[Author's Note: This is probably two chapters' worth, but I figured you guys would come after me with torches if I didn't get Logan in there.]

* * *

"That's the last of it," Kitty said as she finished stacking the cans neatly in the pantry. "I think you have enough groceries for a decade."

"And this is just the back-up," Marie said with amusement. "The caretaker is going to make weekly drop-offs of fresh groceries half a mile from here. All I have to do if I want something special is leave him a note and I'll get it the next week. I think the Professor went a little overboard with the arrangements."

Kitty closed the pantry door and leaned against it. "Is this really necessary, Rogue? The blind drops for groceries...no emailing or phone calls...I understand the 'being alone' part, but why do you have to cut yourself off from all contact?"

"Maybe she's just sick of us, Kits. Ever think of that?" Jubilee said acidly from behind her.

"Jubes..." Kitty said warningly.

"No, it's okay." Marie turned to face Jubilee. "I know you're not in favor of this, Jubes, but I'm not abandoning the team. I'll be back."

"Yeah? When?" Jubilee asked sharply. "The summer is almost over. You gonna stay 'til fall? Get stuck up here through the winter? How long are you planning to give this crazy idea?"

Marie sighed. She knew this wasn't going to go over well. "A year."

Kitty gasped, while Jubilee's face clouded with anger.

"A  _year?_ "

"That's what the Professor and I decided. He thinks...we  _both_  think that it'll take awhile for me to become completely confident that I won't accidentally touch someone. For me to let my guard down, and hope that when I do my skin will turn itself off. But if it hasn't happened in a year...it probably won't ever happen."

Jubilee crossed her arms sullenly. "And after you waste a year out here in the wilderness and it  _still_  doesn't work? What then?"

"Jubilee!" Kitty's shocked exclamation rang out as Marie turned away, trying to hide her expression before Jubilee could see how much that had hurt.

"Shit, Roguey. I'm sorry." Jubilee's anger had disappeared with the usual mercurial speed of her mood changes. Now she just sounded repentant and tearful. "You know I didn't mean..."

"I know." Marie ran a frustrated hand through her hair, taking a deep breath before she was able to face her friends again. "Don't you think I'm worried about that too? But this is it...my last chance. I've tried everything else — neural inhibitors, sedatives, meditation. If this doesn't work...that's it for me." She swallowed hard to try to get rid of the lump in her throat. "Untouchable. Forever."

"That shouldn't matter, chica! You're still hot stuff. I mean look at you, anyone would be thrilled to have..."

"To have  _what_ , Jubes?" Marie's voice was harsh. "A body they can't touch? A brain with a few extra people rattlin' around in there? What exactly makes me such a hot proposition? The fuckin' stripey hair Magneto left me with or the fabulous scars..."

A glance at Jubilee's face made Marie cut her words off abruptly. She saw Jubilee's eyes flicker to her left cheek and then down her shoulder and arm, and she automatically pulled her hair forward over her left shoulder, letting the fall of it shadow her cheek. Jubilee looked like she was going to cry, and Marie felt the same. Snapping at Jubilee wasn't going to help anything.

She sighed. "You're a good friend, Jubilee." She looked from Jubilee to Kitty. "Both of you guys are my  _best_  friends — more family to me than my real family ever was. But just because you don't care about that stuff doesn't mean that it doesn't matter to other people. That it doesn't matter to  _me_. And if one year is what it takes to control my mutation...if it even gives me a  _shot_  at it...that's a price I'm willin' to pay. That's the gamble, and I'm takin' it."

Jubilee's voice was raspy with tears. "Jesus, chica. I'm being a selfish bitch, I know. I'm sorry. I just don't want to lose you, ya know?"

Marie managed a smile. "I know. But I'll be back, I promise. And I appreciate you guys makin' the drive out here with me."

Jubilee shrugged, a tiny pink paff erupting from her fingers. "Eh, we had to see this place you were holing up in. At least it's not the little shack I expected. Pretty lush, in fact."

Marie laughed, relieved that they had worked it out. She cast an eye around Xavier's 'cabin.'

"I know, right? I expected somethin' outta 'Little House on the Prairie.' Instead it's more like an episode of 'Cribs'!"

Jubilee laughed in return. "I don't know if it's all  _that_  great, but — a thirty minute drive to the nearest town? It must have cost the Prof a cool million just to run electric out to here."

"He said that it gets a little iffy in the winter, so there's a backup generator if I need it. But it's definitely a plus. I can't say I mind the idea of hot baths and all the rest of it if I do have to be on my own..."

"But what if something happens with you all alone out here, Rogue?" Kitty said worriedly.

"Trust me, the Professor left nothin' to chance. I've got a sat phone...even a snowmobile if I need it. I'll be fine, Kits," she reassured. "I'll work on my painting, catch up on some reading. It'll be like a vacation." She smiled widely. "You guys just start makin' a shoppin' list of all the hot clothes you're gonna help me buy when I come down off this mountain with completely touchable skin, okay?"

"It's a deal," Jubilee said, her usual buoyant mood back on full display. "Now, let's hug it out, chica, and then Kits and I are gonna have to hit the road if we want to get back to the mansion before dark."

* * *

Marie was able to keep herself busy for the rest of the afternoon and evening. She unpacked, and then started to familiarize herself with her new surroundings. She poked in all the drawers and cabinets in the kitchen, and practiced starting up the generator in case she needed it.

She pushed the dining table aside, grunting with effort and wishing she had thought to do this while Kitty and Jubilee were still here. She hung a hook in the center of the now-empty dining space for her heavy bag, spreading her exercise mats below it. If she wanted to get right back to the team in a year she couldn't let herself get out of shape. Her sparring might need a tune-up, but she could keep her strength and agility up on her own.

On some level she was really enjoying this. She had gone straight from her parents' house to the streets, and then to the mansion. She had never had her own space, to set up the way she liked. Never had the freedom to move furniture if she wanted to, or blast her iPod as loud as she wanted.

As evening fell, however, her spirits started to dive. The music sounded harsh in the silence rather than comforting. She turned it off, opening the windows and letting the sounds of the wind and woods filter through the screens on the late summer breeze. She ate a granola bar, too tired to think about making a real dinner, and ran a hot bath.

She lay in the bathtub, listening to the plink of water and the sounds of crickets, feeling suddenly very alone. She dried herself off, wrapping a towel around herself and then washing her face at the sink.

As she straightened up she froze, startled by her own reflection. She had removed the mirror over her bathroom sink at home, choosing only to use the full-length mirror behind her closet door once she was already dressed and her hair was down. Now her hair was still up in a loose knot from her bath, and the light over the sink cast into sharp relief the thin jagged scar over her left cheekbone.

She tilted her head, exposing the puckered skin on the left side of her neck. With a sigh, she turned so she could see the worst of it — a spiderweb of discolored scars and burns across her left shoulder and shoulderblade, running down her arm almost to the elbow. Even though she knew how bad it was, it had been a while since she had really looked, and it shocked her a little bit to see it again.

She thought of Jubilee's face when she had mentioned her scars today — so surprised, as if she had forgotten about them. Maybe that wasn't so unexpected — as careful as Marie was about being covered, even when they were all roommates she wouldn't change in the same room as Kitty and Jubilee.

Her back still to the mirror she looked over her shoulder, running her fingertips contemplatively over the ridges of scar tissue. Jean had done the best she could — even calling in Hank for consultation about the trickier skin grafts. Between the burns from Scott's optic blast and the shrapnel from the exploding machine she was lucky she still had almost full use of her shoulder and arm, scarred as they were.

She didn't blame Scott. She was enough of an X-Man to know that sometimes difficult decisions had to be made. That some losses were acceptable in the grand scheme of things. And yet...if she were completely honest with herself, she would admit that it still hurt a little bit. More even than the stripes in her hair, the scars were a daily reminder of her place in the grand scheme of things. A lowly pawn on the chessboard of mutant warfare. A weapon to be wielded by Magneto, a force to be counteracted by the X-Men. And, in the end, dispensable to both.

She had since made that decision for herself — joining the team, willing to give her life for the cause. But, back then...back then, she hadn't been a soldier, or a volunteer. She had been Magneto's hostage, and Scott's sacrifice. Both men had held her life in their hands, and gambled with it.

Suddenly frustrated with herself for all this pointless rumination, she pulled her hair free of its knot, letting it fall in a curtain over her face and shoulder, hiding the worst of the damage. She hung the towel up and moved into the bedroom loft, pulling on a nightgown. She started to put on gloves automatically and then pulled them off. In a burst of irritation, she dumped all of her gloves and scarves out of the drawer, shoving them back into one of her smaller suitcases and putting it up on the top shelf of her closet.

Finally, with nothing left to do, she climbed into bed. She pulled her knees up and rested her head on them. She had tried to block out Jubilee's words, but now, alone with the silence, they replayed in her head in an infinite loop.

" _After you waste a year out here in the wilderness and it_ _still_ _doesn't work? What then? What then? What then?"_

She thought of spending the rest of her life like this. Alone. Scared to get close to others, knowing that in doing so she would only hurt them and herself. She turned out the light and closed her eyes, letting the sadness and loneliness overtake her until finally she fell asleep.

* * *

He watched the cabin, hot fury burning in his chest. These were  _his_  woods,  _his_  territory. No one had come out here except the old caretaker, and he only stopped by once a month for an hour or so. He could tolerate that. Now all of a sudden two cars, stinking of gasoline. Loud voices and music.

The scents of strangers were tainting the air, tainting  _his_  woods. It made him want to smash something, to drive them away. He stood at the edge of the clearing, invisible among the trees, as two of them — the loud one, smelling of electricity and bubble gum, and the quieter one, smelling strangely of shadows, got into one of the cars and drove down the dirt road.

He watched the car disappear, wondering if they would be coming back. He listened to the sounds coming from the cabin for a long time. The clattering of pots and pans, the rumble of the generator starting and stopping. Music blasting so loud it hurt his ears after long months of near-silence, and the scrape of furniture being moved.

Finally the music stopped. There was only quiet rustling for awhile, and then the running of water. He didn't think the others were coming back, but this one...

This one was staying, an intolerable intrusion in the pattern of his life. As dusk turned to darkness he crept closer, padding through the clearing and up to the cabin's door.

He let the anger wash over him, snicking his claws out, the bite of pain as metal split skin fueling his fury. He dug the points of the claws into the wood, preparing to scar the wood in a way that would send her running back to wherever she came from.

A scent drifted through the air, halting his action. He froze, inhaling deeply. He felt his anger lessen a bit, curiosity taking its place. With a soft hiss his claws retracted. He padded forward in pursuit of the scent, reaching up to the porch roof and swinging easily and soundlessly up onto the shingles. He crept forward until he was right beside the open window.

The sudden rush of her scent, fresh off her bath-warmed skin, made him almost dizzy for a moment. She smelled soft and sweet and enticing, and...innocent, in some odd way he had never experienced. But even that, the sunshine-and-rain sweetness of her base scent, was not what had drawn him to her.

It was the overlay to her scent that had pulled him closer. He watched through the open bathroom door as she examined her reflection in the mirror, unaware that she was being observed. His eyes traced the countours of her scars just as hers did. When she ran her fingertips over the rough skin his own fingers flexed, wondering what it would feel like.

She hung up her towel and he drew in a sharp breath, the hot rush of lust that burned through his body sudden and completely unexpected. She was all soft pink curves and flushed skin, the tumble of light and dark hair teasing and tantalizing as it alternately obscured and revealed her bare skin as she moved into the bedroom.

He silently shoved away from the window, pushing himself back flat against the wall and closing his eyes. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, angry at his body's unwanted response to her. He wanted her gone. And yet now all he could think about was keeping her here, having her close to him. Running his fingertips over her the way she had run them over her own skin, marking her with his mouth and skin and scent...

He stifled the low growl that rose up in his chest. He would drive himself mad thinking that way. She was not for him, would probably run screaming from him. In his small experience with women there were two kinds — those who despised him, and those who grasped at him roughly, making his skin crawl until he had to push them away for fear of hurting them. This woman was different. Better — made to be someone's mate.

Against his will he found himself drawn back to the window, peering inside. She was dressed in a nightgown now. She stood on her tiptoes, making little huffs of frustration as she tried to lift a small suitcase up to the very top shelf of her closet. Finally she managed it and climbed into bed.

He sat and watched her in silence, unconsciously matching his breathing to hers, as she put her head to her knees. The overlay to her scent, the one that had drawn him to her, deepened. It was loneliness and despair, and it called to him because it was as familiar to him as the smell of the wind and the woods. Those twin scents had been his own constant companions through the meager few years that he could remember.

He crouched on the rough shingles, inhaling her sadness and wondering about her, long after she had fallen asleep.

* * *

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	3. The Axe

The alarm pulled Marie out of a deep sleep. She sat up with a groan, smacking at the buzzing clock. She ran a hand through her hair, feeling unsettled. She had dreamed about...something, but it was already gone.

She wistfully considered hitting the snooze button, but she knew herself — she was a born night owl. If she didn't keep to a schedule she'd be up until three in the morning and sleeping half the day. She had to be disciplined if she was going to be out here all on her own — which was kind of the point, wasn't it?

She dragged herself into the shower, and as the warm water beat down on her she once again blessed the Professor for the way he had managed to get all the modern conveniences out to the wilderness of the Adirondack mountains.

Fully awake now, dressed only in a silk robe, she looked out the still-open windows. The weather was still cool and breezy, but the cloudless sky promised a much warmer afternoon. She opened one of the dresser drawers, feeling her pulse starting to speed as she considered the neatly folded clothes, all with the tags still on them. Christ, how wimpy was she that the mere sight of a tank top and shorts could send her into a near-panic?

She slipped on her underwear. After a moment of thought she dug up a bottle of sunscreen, smoothing it over every inch of potentially-exposed skin. The warm smell of it made her close her eyes. She was suddenly transported back to a Mississippi summer, when the middle-school girls ran in packs, competing against each other for the best tan and who could get the shortest shorts past their ever-vigilant mothers.

Finally, feeling more like she was gearing up for battle than she ever felt climbing into the leather, she pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top, strapping on a pair of sandals and wondering how long it would be before every inch of exposed skin stopped feeling like a neon sign screaming "Danger!"

She ate her breakfast of toast and jam with oranges out on the porch, swinging gently and listening to the sounds of the wind in the trees and the little rustlings and chirpings of animals in the woods. In the hazy morning sunshine, the sense of aloneness that had seemed so grim last night was suddenly easy and peaceful.  _I can do this_ , she thought.

She could do anything she wanted, in fact. Turn a cartwheel, sing at the top of her voice. No one was around to see. The idea was both liberating and strangely unsettling — with so many options, she had no idea what she really wanted to do.

Finally she decided to take advantage of the soft morning sunlight to paint, setting up her easel and canvas. She already had a work in progress, but she decided a fresh start required something new. She closed her eyes, the golds and greens of the woods and sunshine shifting and reforming in her head until they formed a new image, an abstract whirl of color with a deep blue sense of peace in the shadows underneath. With a happy hum she started painting, trying to bring to life on canvas the image in her head.

As usual she completely lost track of time until the growl of her stomach pulled her attention away from the canvas. With a start she realized the light had shifted to afternoon, and the sunscreen she applied this morning had not been up to the challenge of skin that hadn't seen sunlight in more than five years. Shaking her head at her idiocy, she went inside to dig up some lunch along with some aloe vera from the first aid kit.

She found ways to occupy herself in the house until the sun started to lower in the sky, but then the cool breeze blowing through the window screens drew her outside again. She couldn't waste a beautiful late summer afternoon like this with an indoor workout. She changed up the sandals for sturdy boots and walked outside to contemplate the pile of wood and obvious wood-cutting stump at the edge of the clearing.

Chopping wood. Good exercise, from everything she had been told, and you couldn't get more hearty and rustic than that. Wasn't there even a Robert Frost poem about it? 'Only where love and need are one, and the work is play for mortal stakes,' and all that? The cabin had a considerable library, she'd have to look it up later.

After a bit of fumbling through the key ring she managed to open up the creaky toolshed, brushing aside cobwebs until she located the axe neatly hung on the wall. She lifted it down, and — holy hell! Were all axes this heavy?

No wonder lumberjacks were so ripped and manly. At least on paper towel packaging, which was the only place she had seen them. Come to think of it, some of those guys she had met in Alaska had probably been lumberjacks, and they were mostly unkempt beards and beer bellies.  _Stupid false advertising_ , she thought, tightening her grip on the axe and gingerly resting the handle across her sunburned shoulder. Ouch.

She made her way to the stump and let the axe head slide to the ground. She picked up a piece of wood, and — fuck! Splinter!

She yelped, dropping the wood on the stump, sucking at her pierced skin, contemplating with narrow eyes the irony of getting a splinter in her hand on the first damn time in five years she had gone without gloves. "Suck it up. You're a superhero," she told herself sternly

A little more rustling in the toolshed dug up a pair of oversized leather work gloves, nicely softened over the years, and she was back in business, more determined than ever. She examined the piece of wood like it was a turkey ready for carving.

Was she supposed to split it lengthwise, or in half? Dammit, why hadn't she looked up an instructional video on YouTube or something beforehand? For a brief moment she wondered if any of the people she had touched were particularly outdoorsy, but squelched that thought immediately. She was supposed to be alone out here, she wasn't going to resort to the personalities in her head for advice on the very first day.

A stroke of genius had her popping back to the side of the house, where a neatly stacked row of wood covered in plastic stood ready for the fireplace. She grabbed a piece off the rack, examining it closely, and then taking it with her to the chopping block to serve as inspiration.

She cast a glance at the sky. Dusk was falling, and she hadn't even chopped a single piece of wood yet. She carefully balanced the hunk of wood on its end, and then hefted the axe over her head.

 _Clunk._  It slipped right out of her hands, landing on the ground behind her. "Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed. Glad that no one was around to witness this humiliating display, she lifted it again, tightening her grip firmly and aiming right at the hunk of wood.

This time there was a sweet swish and a satisfying thunk as the wood split cleanly in half. She gave a little bounce of excitement — success! Carefully re-positioning one of the halves end-up, she reached for the axe handle again...

"You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," she grumbled. She tugged and tugged, but the axe blade was sunk tight into the stump.

She stood up on the stump, crouching down, holding the handle with both hands and heaving with all her might. "Come. Out. You. Mother. Fucker," she ground out, tugging with every word, but the axe remained stubbornly in place.

"Aarrgh!" she yelled in frustration, jumping down off the stump. She considered childishly kicking the stump, but figured adding a toe injury to the count would be one more victory the axe didn't need.

She clenched her fists in the work gloves, trying to tamp down on her frustration. Her fingers itched with the urge to use Magneto's powers. She could almost feel how satisfying it would be to send the blade humming through the air.  _No_ , she told herself.

She had a wild thought of hooking a rope to the axe handle and tugging on it with the Jeep. "And that's how they found Rogue dead out in the woods with an axe in the back of her head," she said sarcastically to herself. Mortal stakes, indeed.

Finally she pulled the work gloves off with a sigh, forcing herself back in the house. It was too dark now to go digging around in the toolshed, but in the morning she'd go looking for something to chisel the damn thing out with. And she'd put a "How to Chop Wood" book on her shopping list. She imagined the look on the caretaker's face when he read that request, and managed to laugh at herself.

For now, she'd concentrate on making a real dinner. Cooking — at least that was something she actually knew how to do.

* * *

The next morning, Marie brought her breakfast out to the porch swing again. She heaped a forkful of scrambled egg on a bite of toast to give herself strength before casting a sullen eye at her arch-nemesis, the axe.

She froze, the toast halfway to her mouth. She put it back on the plate, and then placed the plate carefully on the swing. She walked out to the edge of the clearing, looking around herself cautiously. She stood over the chopping block, looking down at where the axe now lay, flat on top of the block.

She felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck as she reached out, picking up the axe and hefting it in both hands, her whole body taut with tension. She looked around the clearing again, seeing nothing but the rustling of the trees. She crouched down, looking at the ground around the stump, but it had been dry enough lately that she couldn't even see her own bootprints, let alone the tracks of anyone else.

She ran her fingers over the deep groove in the stump where the axe blade had been stuck. Was she imagining things? Maybe she had loosened it with her tugging. Didn't metal shrink when it got colder? Maybe it came loose overnight, and...conveniently fell flat on the stump.

"Like hell," she breathed. She walked around the edge of the clearing, looking for signs that someone had been there, and found nothing. But when she went back to the porch to finish her breakfast, she took the axe with her.

* * *

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	4. The Spoon

He watched her too much. He knew that for certain, knew that he should stay away. No good could come of this. And yet day after day, hard as he tried to resist, he found himself inexorably straying in her direction. He would move stealthily through the woods, telling himself that he would just get close enough to catch her scent. Just a little of that sunshine-and-rain sweetness, and he'd be able to leave. And then once he scented her, he had to get just a little closer, so he could see her. Just a glimpse.

By the time the days had turned into weeks he couldn't even pretend any more. This was all he wanted, just to be near her. To see her, and smell her. To watch her as she painted, the colors coming to vivid life through the deft and sure movements of her hand. To see the way her body moved, graceful and strong, in flurries of punches and kicks that made the heavy bag sway on its mooring. To listen to her quiet breathing as she read, or cooked, or slept. Sometimes she sang to herself in a low voice, thick and sweet like honey. At those times he couldn't help himself from creeping even dangerously closer, letting her voice run over him like a caress, the low sweet tones washing over him until he thought he would happily drown in them.

He remembered — as he often did — that first day, watching her try to chop the wood. How fierce she had been, like a small spitting cat, defiant and indomitable. He put a hand to his face, feeling the unaccustomed movement of the muscles there. He was smiling. He couldn't remember ever doing that, before her.

It was an addiction, this compulsive need to be near to her. He woke up in the morning, thinking of when he would see her next, his heart speeding at the very idea of it. And then the moments when he was near her, watching. Something about her soothed him in a way he had never felt before, sending warmth unfurling through his chest. When he crawled into his lonely nest of blankets at night, his mind replayed images from the day. The way her brow had furrowed as she tried to get something right on her painting, a spot of blue paint carelessly smudged across her temple. The graceful arch of her body as she had kicked and punched the heavy bag. The flush of pink that had tinted her cheekbones when she emerged soft and warm from her bath.

He knew it was wrong to watch her, wrong to even think about her, but his mind whispered arguments that he could not find the strength to refute.  _This is enough, just to see her,_  he told himself.  _To be near her. Why should he deny himself a little bit of brightness in his cold hard life? What harm is it to her? She will never know._

* * *

Marie started as a leaf brushed her shoulder. She put down her paintbrush, wiping her hands on the faded old shirt she wore as a smock, and looked up at the rustling trees. The golds and oranges were outweighing the greens now, and soon the leaves would start to fall in earnest.

She felt as if she had settled in here. Her heart no longer lurched when she stepped outside. She wore shorts and sleeveless shirts with hardly a second thought now.  _Growing comfortable in my own skin._  She thought the hackneyed phrase had never been quite as appropriate. To her knowledge her mutation had remained active, but there were times now — whole hours at a stretch — when it did not even cross her mind. At times she even felt that there was a glimmer of difference...a hint of a change that might just be, if not quite  _within_  her grasp, then moving ever closer...

But now summer was drawing to a close, and autumn would be upon her. How would she handle the change from long, lazy sunshine-filled days to a snowbound, frosty winter? Would the darkness and cold start to weigh on her, turning her peaceful solitude to loneliness and isolation?

Well, she would make the most of these last warm days while she could. On an earlier excursion she had found a small lake nearby. Maybe she would go swimming tomorrow. She started to pack up her painting supplies, singing softly under her breath.

"Summertime...and the livin' is easy...fish are jumpin'...and the cotton is high...oh, your daddy's rich...and your momma's good lookin'...so hush little baby...don't you —  _holy hell!_ "

She jumped, the palette falling from her hands. A man was standing amongst the trees, just... watching her.

She blinked, at first thinking that she must be imagining things. He was so still, almost invisible among the tree trunks. Then the frozen shock gave way to a hot rush of anger. No one was supposed to be here.  _No one._ Xavier owned the land for miles around.

"Hey!" she called out angrily, taking a few steps forward.

She saw his eyes widen as he stumbled a step backwards. For some reason, his startled response made her anger spike even higher.

"Hey, you!" she yelled. And then he was... just  _gone_ , melting away into the forest as if he had never been there.

She ran to the place where she had seen him, looking around in all directions. "Dammit," she muttered. Nothing was there but the tall trees and the sigh of the wind, a few leaves gently falling to brush against her shoulders.

* * *

Marie sat on the couch in the cabin's living room, trying to calm her thumping heart and assess the situation rationally.

Who could this man be? He didn't look like a random hiker who had wandered off course — even in the brief glimpse she had caught of him she could tell that he didn't have gear of any sort. And the way he had reacted to being spotted. He had looked almost...guilty.

She thought again of the axe. She had added a little note on her shopping list to Samuel, the caretaker, asking if he had come by the cabin and his note in return had assured her that he had not. Had this man been responsible? And if so, had he been around for that long — almost a month?

"Fuckin' creeper," she muttered. She thought about him maybe watching her...even seeing that pathetic display of chopping wood she had put on the first day, and her cheeks burned with anger and humiliation. She forced herself to take a deep breath, trying to take emotion out of the situation.

What did she know? If he had really been around that long, he would have had plenty of opportunities to harm her, if that was what he had wanted. She thought of his reaction when she had confronted him. He had seemed more startled even than she was. She tried to recall more about him, but her only clear impression was of his eyes. They had been intensely focused on her, the amber-hazel gaze almost seeming to glow in her recollection. Otherwise she had a vague impression of a bearded face and somewhat unruly hair. A flannel shirt and jeans, but no gear that she had seen. And no weapon.

Here were her options. She could use the satellite phone and call Xavier. But what if he were overly cautious - maybe even recommending that she call off this experiment and come back to the mansion, or that the team come out to investigate? She was making progress, she was sure of it. She didn't want to call this off yet.

So that left it to her. She looked at the object she had placed on the coffee table, a sterling silver serving spoon she had dug out from one of the cabinets. She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.

_Magneto_. She opened her eyes and the spoon lifted from the table. She made it hover for a moment, and then with a snap of her fingers fractured it into a thousand tiny pieces of metal. Drawing her fingers together again, she reformed the spoon perfectly. She let it clatter back onto the table.

_Bobby_. This trace was weaker. She had only absorbed Bobby a few times while they dated, little accidents and brushes until that final time — lingering too long over a kiss — when she had picked up enough of his thoughts to realize that Kitty was the one he actually wanted. Nonetheless, she touched her index finger to the spoon and it iced over instantly. She breathed out a huff of surprise, her breath showing frosty cold even in the warm summer air.

_Jubilee_. Another weak trace, but enough to make a small paff, charging the spoon and sending it a few inches across the table.

_Jean_. Marie hesitated. Jean was the last of the mutants she had absorbed, and that day may have been the worst day of her life since she had fallen, burned and shredded, from Magneto's machine into the Upper New York Bay. God forgive her for ever thinking that Jean had it easy, with her perfect appearance and faultless elegance. Once Marie knew what it was like to have uncontrolled telepathy — the thoughts of everyone within a fifteen mile radius shoved forcibly into her head — she never envied Jean again.

Xavier had been right, her mental barriers were strengthening all the time. This time alone at the cabin seemed to have solidified her sense of self, making it easier than ever to selectively access the powers of the personalities in her head and then bottle them up again. Jean's talent would definitely be the most useful here. She could potentially know what this man was thinking — who he was, where he was, if he were a threat to her...

And yet somehow, that was the line she couldn't cross. Not yet, at least. Maybe it was because of how hard Marie had to fight to achieve privacy in her own mind, ever since the moment her mutation first manifested and Cody had taken up a permanent residence in her head. As angry and disquieted as the man's unexpected appearance had made her, she could not feel justified in invading his thoughts. Not quite yet.

In the meantime, she was on her guard now. She would watch, and wait, and if the man had bad intentions...she was an X-Man, dammit, and her defenses were considerable. After a moment of thought she closed her eyes and summoned up Magneto again, reworking the silver spoon into an intricately fashioned cuff bracelet, wrapping it around her wrist. She would always have metal on her from now on, and who needs a gun when you can fire a metal missile directly with the power of your mind? If this man did indeed intend to harm her...well, he didn't know who he was dealing with.

* * *

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	5. The Swim

Marie added a sandwich and a bottle of water to the backpack and slung it over her shoulder. She hesitated for a moment, fingers running absently over the cuff on her wrist, before she stepped resolutely out the cabin's door. She refused to let this man, whoever he was, affect her behavior.

Still, she felt uncomfortable the whole way to the lake, a prickling sensation tickling the back of her neck as if she were being watched. _Just your imagination_ , she told herself with irritation.  _If you could actually sense being watched wouldn't you would have felt it before now, when the man actually_ _was_ _watching you?_  she scolded herself.

She laid out her towel and pulled off her shorts and shirt, kicking out of her socks and boots. Jubilee had talked her into buying this bikini. "It's your color, chica!" she had screeched as soon as she saw it hanging on the rack. Now Marie felt unbearably exposed, intensely conscious of every inch of skin not covered by the skimpy dark green fabric. She suddenly wished she were back in the scuba suit she had to wear to swim at the mansion.

She clenched her fists in frustration, forcing herself to lie down on her stomach, trying to relax. Awareness of her skin was exactly what she was trying to suppress. She'd be damned if she'd let this man undo all of her progress.

She let the late afternoon sun warm her skin, and finally managed to relax. She ate her sandwich, and read a little. She actually had found a book in the cabin's library of the poems of Robert Frost, and she was enjoying them. She started to feel a little drowsy even, and sat up to drink more of her water. She wasn't ready to be quite that off guard. Finally she figured she was warm enough and waded into the lake, shivering at the feeling of weeds wrapping around her ankles until she was deep enough to swim.

The cool water felt amazing against her bare skin, and she no longer regretted being free of that stifling scuba suit. She floated on her back, enjoying the sensation of her skin warming and cooling as clouds passed across the sun. Finally, as dusk approached, she dunked herself one more time and made her way back to the shore.

She was focused on untangling the weeds from her ankles, scrambling onto the shore and pulling the last slimy strands off of her feet. She looked up, and her chest suddenly seized with fear.

A giant cat was a bare few feet away from her, crouching silently, its tail switching back and forth.  _Mountain lion_ , some part of her head automatically categorized. It was about four feet tall, massive clawed paws clenched against the scrubby grass as if ready to pounce.

She pushed through her frozen shock, lifting a hand slowly. Fear made her borrowed abilities clumsy, however, and the metal cuff snapped into her raised hand with a suddenness she didn't intend.

The cat sprang. She saw a blur of movement and the next thing she knew she was flat on the ground, her breath knocked from her. She struggled up to one elbow and saw with horror the deep gashes running across her inner thigh, layers of skin and fat gaping open, exposing the reddish-purple muscle. The pain came shortly after, a blaze of burning agony. She watched as dark red rivers of blood welled up, running out to soak the ground beneath her in a widening pool.  _So fast._

She managed to raise her eyes to where the cat prowled back and forth, watching her. It screamed, an eerie sound like a woman screaming, and she had the wild thought that the animal was making the sound that she herself was biting back behind her gritted teeth.

She heard a rustle and then saw another blur of motion as a large, heavy shape burst from the trees, hitting the cat straight on, both of them falling to the ground in a tumble. Marie felt hardly able to process this new shock. She looked away from the tumbling shapes, her eyes fixing on her towel. Whimpering in pain she managed to drag herself closer, grabbing the edge of the towel and pressing it to her wounds. She almost screamed again at the spike in pain from the pressure of her hands. The towel darkened almost immediately with blood, hardly seeming to stop the flow at all.  _Femoral artery_ , that same distant part of her mind supplied helpfully. She was as good as dead.

She managed to look up at the fight taking place only a few yards away. Another shock, as she realized the other shape was not another animal but a man —  _the_  man, in fact. He was on his hands and knees, the cat swiping viciously at his bare chest, raking it with its claws. She caught a glimpse of something metal and then he was rearing up with a roar, his hands buried deep in the cat's furry chest and belly as he seemed to lift it several feet up in the air.

The cat fell to the ground in a heap, dead, sliding slowly from his hands. Marie blinked. No, not from his hands, from his  _knives_. She saw the fading sunlight glint off six long metal blades and then with a twitch of his hands they were gone.  _Where did they go?_

The man moved toward her. She suddenly realized what he intended, her stunned gaze fixing on his bare, blood-covered chest as he came closer.

"Stop," she gasped. "Don't touch me!"

She saw him hesitate for the barest moment, his eyes narrowing, his mouth twisting bitterly.  _He thinks I'm afraid of him_ , she realized, the irony of it spinning through her hazy brain. And then he was lifting her, one arm under her knees, the other across her back.

"No," she tried to protest, pushing weakly at his bare chest, absently noting that although she thought she had seen him get clawed he was bloody but unscratched. Her breath was coming in shuddering gasps.  _Hypovolemia_ , she thought, an echo of the field medic training Hank had given to them all. She was suffocating — not from lack of oxygen, but from lack of the blood to transport it. She was already dying, and now she would kill him...

She felt for a moment the unaccustomed warmth of his skin pressed to hers everywhere - the length of her thigh, across her back — and then he was rushing into her, a riot of feeling and images more intense than she had ever experienced.

He howled in agony — or did she? — and then they were both falling, hitting the ground hard as she struggled against the overwhelming wave of emotion.

_Build a wall, build a wall, build a wall..._

She was barely aware of her own body, scrambling back through the dirt and grass, ending the contact with his skin. All of her attention was focused inwards, trying to contain him, struggling mightily against the force of his personality.

He was all bright images and scents and sounds, and emotion deeper and stronger than any she had ever felt. She pushed against it, throwing up barrier after barrier, trying to contain it all. The fear and the rage and the loneliness, a swirl of nightmarish images that she didn't dare look at, and then a blazing spot of brightness that was...thoughts of  _her_ , she realized with shock.

She blocked herself off from all of it, building the barrier higher and stronger, until finally she pushed the last of him inside it and opened her eyes, herself again.

The world seemed to come into focus slowly. As the blur of light and shadow resolved itself into shapes, she realized she was looking at the body of the man, sprawled on the ground.

"Oh my god," she heard her numb voice say as if from a distance.

She shuffled closer to him on her knees. "Please be okay," she gasped through sobs. "Please."

The claws of the mountain lion had left deep gashes across his chest. But hadn't she seen his massive chest, unmarked beneath her palm only moments before? She reached out toward him and then realized she couldn't touch him — her hands and arms were completely bare. She pulled her hands back, resting clenched fists against her thighs.

 _Her thighs_. She looked down at where her mortal wound had been. She felt a buzzing in her head, the world tilting dizzily as she saw the muscle and skin knitting itself together, closing up from the edges of the wounds toward the middle until only three streaks of red remained, slowly fading to pink.

She looked at the man again, and like the last piece of a puzzle falling into place a few of the scattered images she had picked up while containing his personality finally made sense.  _Healing. He heals. He healed me._

As she thought it the man's eyelids fluttered and then lifted, his wary golden-hazel gaze snapping to hers.

"I'm sorry," she managed weakly. "I'm so..."

He scrabbled away from her, pushing himself up into a crouch. With a hissing metal sound, six long blades popped out of his hands. She looked at them, stunned. They came from his hands, from his arms, from  _inside_ him.  _That must hurt like hell_ , she thought dazedly.

Her eyes shifted to his chest, where his own gashes were now healing just as hers had. "I'm — I can't control it. My skin. I didn't mean to..."

Without realizing it she held up a hand imploringly and he growled. She froze in place. She saw his eyes move down to her thigh, saw the surprise and suspicion on his face as he saw her healed wounds.

"I didn't..."

He growled again, and her words stuttered to a halt.

She watched, unsure what else to do, as he backed away from her. She pulled her hands into her body, feeling stupid senseless tears welling up again.

The man reached down, lifting the body of the mountain lion. It must have weighed more than two hundred pounds, but he slung it over his shoulder as if it were nothing. Then he turned and disappeared back into the forest.

Marie looked around her. The lake was still and silent. Only the pool of blood soaking into the dry dirt and her bloody towel remained as testament to what had happened.

She looked down at her bloody hands, unsurprised to see them shaking.

"Holy fuckin' hell," she said to herself.

* * *

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	6. The Plan

Marie was not even sure how she managed to get herself back to the cabin on such wobbly legs. She was exhausted by the time she got back and wearily climbed the stairs to the loft bedroom.

She washed her hands at the bathroom sink, scrubbing her fingers to try to get the caked blood off. She caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror, wincing at her blood-streaked face. She stopped and looked closer.

"Jesus Christ..." she breathed.

She ran her damp fingertips over her left cheekbone, where her scar had been. Nothing but smooth skin remained. She yanked her hair aside, baring the left side of her neck. The burned, puckered skin had smoothed out. She could still feel a trace of scarring under her fingertips, but it was almost imperceptible.

Holding her breath, she turned around, looking over her shoulder. The scarring was faded — no, make that fading. Even before her eyes it seemed to be lessening. She raised her arm, taking in the sensation of full range of motion in her shoulder without the stretch of pain she usually felt over her scarred skin.

"Holy crap," she said to herself.

Feeling beyond overwhelmed, she climbed into the shower, letting the hot spray beat down on her as she pressed her forehead against the cool tile wall. When all the blood had been washed from her hair and body, she put the plug into the drain and turned the knob to start the bath filling.

She lay down in the tub, feeling the warmth of the water lessening some of the shock. She would try to sort through all that had happened later, but for now she let her mind drift. She closed her eyes, feeling almost weightless in the water.

_A stifling mask covered her face, each frantic breath rasping roughly through her dry throat. She looked down to see her brawny arms and legs, naked in the viscous green liquid of the tank, thick black lines tracing the path of the bones. And then it started, pain worse than she had ever felt in her life, pain so overwhelming her mind could barely process it. Every inch of her body was screaming in agony, burning alive from the inside. She turned her head in anguish, looking desperately for escape, but all she could see was the smug faces of the scientists and generals, clinking champagne glasses to celebrate their success..._

Marie shot upright, gasping for breath, her whole body shaking with remembered pain. The tub was overflowing. She reached out with shaking hands and turned the water off, pulling the plug from the drain. She stood up shakily, feeling like she was going to throw up. She wrapped a towel around herself and staggered to the bed, sitting on it and putting her head between her knees so that she didn't pass out, trying to take deep breaths.

What the hell was that? Some kind of nightmare? But as she thought it, she suddenly knew. Not a nightmare, at least not at first. It was a memory.  _His_  memory.

_Mutant experimentation._ She had heard rumors, of course, every mutant had. In between run-of-the-mill pickups and the usual tangles with the Brotherhood or with the Friends of Humanity, the X-Men had even checked up on some of those rumors. But there had never been any confirmation, not even a shred of proof. Every facility they had checked had been innocuous, or simply empty.

It wasn't just rumors. She knew it now — knew it with ever fiber of her being. The metal of his claws was just the part that was visible. They had taken this man, and put the metal inside him — slowly, agonizingly, along every bone in his skeleton.

She crawled under the covers, her mind reeling with the horror of it. "What did they do to you?" she breathed, even though she already knew the answer.

* * *

When the alarm rang, Marie's first thought was that it had been an especially vivid dream. Her hand sought out her shoulder, and she was surprised anew to feel the skin, smooth and unmarred beneath her fingertips. She pushed herself wearily out of bed, her hair — irretrievably tangled from having been slept on wet — another confirmation of the events of the evening before.

She stumbled into the shower, letting the hot water scour the fuzziness from her brain, assessing what she knew. And by the time she emerged she had a plan.

* * *

She sat on the porch swing with her breakfast, as usual, but she couldn't suppress this new awareness of the woods around her. He could be there. Anywhere.

After breakfast she set up her easel, trying to immerse herself in her work. Her thoughts kept straying back to the man, however. Her mind was still shying away somewhat from what she had learned while she was containing his personality. Was she mistaken? How could that bright spot — the  _only_  bright spot in everything he knew and felt — how could that be  _her_? She didn't even know he existed until two days ago.

That sort of intensity should scare her, she knew that rationally. And yet, somehow, it didn't. Maybe because she had caught enough of a sense of it to know that it was not obsessive, or even salacious. To him she was just...comfort, and peace, and goodness. What she had done to make him feel that way she had no idea — there was nothing special about her.

Through conversations with Hank, she had come to understand a little bit about how a feral sees the world. And this man was feral, she had no doubts about that. The sheer intensity of his experiences — the sounds and smells and colors, the deep wells of emotion — it made her world seem flat and faded in comparison. So he was feral, and instinct had drawn him to her, for whatever reason.

She knew for certain that he would not harm her - would in fact protect her at great risk to himself, as he had proven yesterday. The thought of it made her heart twist a little. Even in the small glimpses she had gotten of his life there had been so much pain, and loneliness, and betrayal. She had hurt him yesterday. Did he understand that she had no control of it? Or did he now count her amongst the many people who had used him — taken from him, careless of the hurt it had caused?

She wanted -  _needed_  - to make him understand. Instinct had drawn him to her, and she could only hope that it would do so again.

By afternoon, she felt that she had given him enough time. Perhaps he despised her, and would never come near her again. But...perhaps not.

She laid out a blanket, and went back into the house for a moment. When she came back out she had two plates, and enough food to fill them both. She put one plate and a bottle of water on the far end of the blanket, and sat down at the other end.

She took a bite of her sandwich, contemplating the quiet woods.

"Will you eat with me?" she asked.

She got no answer except the rustle of the wind through the trees.

"I think you might be there...I hope you might be there. And I wanted to talk to you. Wanted to explain to you what happened."

She took a sip of her water, trying to formulate the words. "I'm a mutant. Like you. Except, my mutation is my skin. I can't control it — can't stop it, or anything. Whenever someone's skin touches mine, I hurt them. And it hurts me too."

She heard a different rustle then, like something in the underbrush. Her eyes snapped up, but she still could see nothing but the trees.

"I mean, usually it does. When I touch someone, I get...I don't know, their life force, you might call it. Their thoughts, and memories, and emotions. And if they're mutants, I get their mutations. But it hurts them, real bad. I can kill someone if I touch them too long."

She took another bite of her sandwich. Maybe it was her imagination but she was certain he was there — it was almost like she could feel him.

"That's what happened yesterday. That's why I didn't want you to touch me. Not 'cause I was afraid of you, or anythin'. I know that's what you thought, I — I saw it on your face. But it wasn't like that. I just...I didn't wanna hurt you. I thought I was as good as dead already, and I didn't wanna hurt you too. But you helped me anyway, and you saved me. You healed me."

She absent-mindedly pulled some grapes off a stem, rolling one between her fingers. "Anyway, that's mostly what I wanted to say. Thanks, for helpin' me. And that I'm sorry I hurt you, I didn't mean to. I wish I could stop it — that's why I came out here, to be by myself to find a way to stop it. I don't want to hurt people, and I didn't want to hurt you. I just hope you're not...mad or nothin' about it," she ended lamely.

She suddenly felt ridiculous. He probably wasn't even there — she was probably just talking to herself like a damn fool. She threw the grape aside, her hands clenching into fists. "This is stupid," she muttered.

She picked up the full plate she had made for him and stacked it on top of hers. She stood up, and...he was just there, at the edge of the clearing, standing silent and still among the tree trunks.

"Oh," she breathed, startled.

"I..." she took a step towards him, and he took a step back, half-turning as if to leave.

She took a step back also. "Wait...don't go."

His eyes met hers again, silent and unreadable.

"Were you here...all that time? Did you hear what I said?"

His head tilted slightly — in inquiry or assent, she couldn't tell.

"Anyway, I'm sorry that I hurt you. I didn't mean to. I know...I know that you like to hang around here..."

His eyes widened, and she rushed to reassure him.

"No, I mean...it's okay. I understand. I know that you aren't gonna hurt me or anythin', right?"

He just looked at her, his gaze steady and intense, making her feel fidgety.

"I just meant...it's okay with me if you wanna hang around here. And if you wanna eat with me or talk...that's okay too. I mean, I know that you're not a big talker..."

Was that the slightest quirk of his mouth? Had she actually made him smile?

She couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her own face. "My momma usedta tell me I could talk enough for any two people. So maybe we could do that. If you wanted."

She reached down and picked up the water bottle she had brought for him. "I brought you some..."

But when she looked up he was already gone.

* * *

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	7. The Idea

Marie punched her pillow in aggravation, trying to get comfortable in bed. She had always had fits of insomnia from time to time, but they were worse when she had a lot on her mind. And right now, there was one thing on her mind. The man.

She should be punching him, not her pillow, aggravating as the damn man was being. It had been more than two weeks since he had saved her life, and he still seemed as skittish as ever. Still hadn't even said one damn word to her.

She, on the other hand, had been a regular chatterbox. Every day — while painting, while eating her lunch, whatever she was up to that day — she would talk to him. And he may think that kind of thing was easy for her, but it sure as hell wasn't.

She hadn't been kidding about her momma saying that she could talk enough for two people, but that had been a long time ago, when she was just a kid. She had changed a lot from the bright and bubbly six-year-old her momma used to pamper and tease. A life-sucking mutation, the rejection of your family, six hard months on the road, and not to mention a little stint as Magneto's hostage — those kinds of things tended to change a girl.

No one who knew her as Rogue would ever have called her bright and bubbly. The barriers in her head weren't the only ones she had built since her mutation first manifested. Sometimes she felt like her whole life was made of barriers - barriers constructed of sheer willpower to protect her mind, barriers of clothing and distance to protect her skin, barriers of privacy and aloofness to protect her heart...

She had come out here hoping to shed some of those barriers. And, she acknowledged reluctantly, maybe on some level the man was helping her do that. Even if having someone around might be setting back her progress toward forgetting about her skin, it was probably balanced out by the way she was able to let her guard down with the man otherwise. The way he just sat, silent and intent, listening to whatever she had to say. There was something really freeing about it. No judgment, no arguments.

He didn't seem to mind if she talked or if they just sat in comfortable silence, yards of clearing between them. But she had made a game of talking to him, trying to draw some reaction from him, or simply just filling the air between them. She could talk about anything, big or little — his silent acceptance seemed to draw it out of her.

She had told him things she had never told anyone — not even Hank or Kitty or Jubilee. How it had felt when her mutation first manifested, her terror and confusion as Cody rushed into her head. How her trip to Alaska had been nothing like she had dreamed — just a cold, hungry misery until she had wanted to just lay down in the snow and sleep forever. How she often times felt so alone at the mansion, even with other mutants all around her. How she wondered sometimes whether joining the X-Men was something she would have really wanted, or if it was just the best available substitute for the life she knew she could never really have because of her mutation.

And the little things. How she couldn't go to sleep at night without a glass of water next to her, and how she liked strawberries and ice cream but not strawberry ice cream. He probably knew her better now than anyone on the face of the planet. She had told him all of those things, and what had he told her? Not one damn thing, not even his name.

"Strong silent type my ass," she mumbled into her pillow.

At least he showed himself now, she conceded. Even if it still startled her, the way he could come and go without a sound. She would be out, doing whatever, and she would look up and he would suddenly just be there. And, she acknowledged, he had moved a little closer each time, coming out from the trees and even sitting with his back up against the chopping block last time...

"Big. Fuckin'. Deal," she grumbled, untangling her legs from the sheets for the umpteenth time, kicking at them in irritation. He still stayed yards away from her, still looked braced to run if she took even a step towards him. It was driving her nuts.

She huffed out an irritated breath into her pillow, and closed her eyes, trying to get to sleep.

* * *

He heard the scraping of feet on gravel too late. He wheeled around, cursing himself for not hearing them approach. He had just been so damn cold and hungry. Even though he had been moving steadily south, winter had come in hard and fast and he hadn't been able to find any prey for awhile. Digging in the dumpster, close to the first food he had seen in three days, and he hadn't paid attention to anything else.

"Well look here, Buck. I think we got ourselves a freeloader."

The three men were ranged around him, backing him up against the dumpster. The parking lot was deserted otherwise, lit only dimly by the roadhouse's flashing neon sign. The men must have come together in one of the few trucks left on the lot.  _Stupid_. He had thought the truck belonged to the bar's owner or a waitress or something. Dammit, he should have waited until they were all gone.

One of the other men — presumably Buck — looked him over, from his dirty jeans to his bare feet. "A freeloader," he affirmed. "And I wouldn't be surprised if he weren't a fuckin' mutie too."

The first man grinned. "Well, you know what they say...the only good mutie is a dead mutie." He stepped up way too close, poking him in the chest. "What do you say... _mutie_? Or can't you talk?"

His heart was racing, blood roaring in his ears. He looked past the grinning man at the other two. They had drawn in closer, enjoying the show. This was probably the best it would get.

He kicked out, catching the grinning man square in the gut. He fell to his knees, retching, as the other two closed in.

His claws itched to be released, but he forced them down. He didn't know who was chasing him, but that facility he had broken out of — someone sure as hell was after him after what he had done there. Nothing would identify him more than showing the claws, or killing these men as a matter of fact. He just had to take them out and get out of here. He never should have come out of the woods. _Just put them down and get free_ , he told himself.

The one on the left swung, a wild roundhouse of a punch, and he got in under it easily, a sharp rabbit punch to the nose sending that one down as well. Now he only had Buck to deal with. Buck pulled a switchblade from his pocket, and his claws itched to come out again. Instead, he let Buck rush him, ducking away at the last minute, grabbing the back of his shirt and sending him face first into the dumpster. He ground his heel into Buck's hand until he dropped the switchblade with a yowl of pain.

 _Now. Run_ , he told himself, but the sound of a cocking gun stopped him in his tracks. He froze, arms at his sides.

"That's enough," the new man said. He was wearing a grease-streaked apron, the sharp grey eyes in his weather-beaten face looking straight at Buck.

"Gus..." Buck spat blood and a tooth to the ground before struggling to his feet. "We were just..."

"I see what you were  _just_ ," Gus said. "And I said that's enough. You all are good customers, but that sign up there says 'Gus's Grill.'" He gestured with the head to the two men on the ground, one still retching and the other one holding his nose and groaning. "If you ever want to come back here, you'll pick up these two and get them into that truck and get on out of here. If you want to fight you save it for the cage, not my parking lot. Are we clear?"

The men groused and muttered a bit, but apparently weren't willing to risk being blackballed from the only bar within a hundred miles. After a few more muttered threats, they piled into the pickup and drove off.

He had said nothing the whole time, his eyes warily on Gus. The shotgun was still cocked, and pointed more or less in his direction.

Gus's gaze took him in from head to toe, but without the derision the other men had shown.

"You're a big one, aren't you?"

He had nothing to say to that, even if he had been willing to talk to this stranger.

"Hungry, huh? C'mon inside, I'll fix you a burger."

He looked at the gun.

"Oh. Yeah." Gus lowered the gun, scratching his grizzled beard thoughtfully.

He looked towards the woods, and then back at Gus, considering.

"You need money, right? I got an idea. C'mon inside and I'll tell you about it. If you don't like it, take off. What the hell do I care?" Gus turned and walked towards the bar's back door.

He stood in the freezing parking lot for a moment, deliberating, and then finally followed Gus inside.

The bar was dim. He heard the grill starting up in the back, beginning to sizzle already, and the smell of warm grease made his empty stomach squeeze painfully.

He sat on a barstool, his elbows on the bar, listening to the clicking and clanking of Gus cooking in the back.

In a few minutes Gus came out carrying a giant cheeseburger on a chipped plate.

He looked at it warily for a moment, but his hunger overrode his caution. He grabbed the burger, taking a big mouthful, uncaring that it was hot enough to burn his tongue. Damn, that was good.

"See that cage?" Gus nodded toward the back.

He nodded, his mouth full.

"I got fights in there, every Friday and Saturday night this time of year. Five hundred dollar entry fee, winner takes all."

He stopped chewing as understanding started to dawn.

"You're damn big, and I already know you can fight. Those three — each of them has been king of that cage at one time or another, and you took them all down in five seconds flat."

He took another bite of the burger, swallowing it down.

"Tomorrow's Friday. I'll front you the entry fee. You give me half of your winnings. Deal?" Gus stuck his hand out across the bar.

He looked at the hand for a moment, and then shoveled the last of the burger into his mouth. He nodded, and shook Gus's hand.

Gus chuckled. "I've got a storeroom in the back. You can clean up a little and sleep there tonight." Taking a few steps, he snagged a mug from the rough wooden shelves behind the bar. Gus pulled on a tap, filling the mug to the brim until foam spilled over the top, and then put it down in front of him.

"You may not say much, but you're no dummy," Gus observed, his sharp eyes peering at the tags. "Wolverine, huh? Well, Wolverine, you just better win tomorrow, you got me?"

He nodded, lifting the mug and taking a big gulp.  _Holy fuck._  That was the best thing he had ever tasted in his life. Well, in the month or so of his life that he could remember.

Gus smiled. "You win tomorrow and the beer's on the house."

* * *

Marie woke up with a start. The dream had been so vivid...

 _No, not a dream_ , she realized.  _Another memory._ _His_ _memory._

She lay back down, trying to get back to sleep, when inspiration struck. She bolted upright again, turning on the bedside light. She dug in the drawer, looking for paper and a pen. She had something to add to her grocery list.

 _Beer_ , she wrote carefully.

She turned out the light and snuggled back into her pillow with a smile.  _Nobody should ever expect a Rogue to fight fair._

* * *

[Please review!  :-D]

* * *


	8. The Beer

He moved silently through the woods, his heart starting to beat faster in anticipation of seeing her.  _Maybe this time_ , he thought, but couldn't even finish the thought in his own head. What did he even  _want_  to happen? He didn't know. He clenched his fists in frustration with himself.

He knew she was getting frustrated with him as well. Every day the warm happiness that spiked her scent when she first saw him faded, her scent becoming tinged instead with vexation and a hint of sorrow at his continued silence as the day wore on.

He knew she likely thought that he was still afraid of her mutation, still a little angry at her for hurting him. She probably thought that fear and wariness caused him to keep this careful distance between them. How could he even begin to let her know how completely wrong she was?

It was not her he feared, but himself. What he might do if he got closer to her. The feelings she evoked in him frightened him with their intensity. He kept his face impassive as she talked, afraid to show how her slightest smile made his heart leap, how his gut churned with rage when she described how others had hurt her. No one had ever shown him such tacit faith. No one had ever trusted him with their thoughts and secrets. She had a power over him that he couldn't explain, let alone resist.

 _Not a big talker,_  she had called him. Did she realize that he could probably count on his fingers the number of people he had spoken to in the three years of his life that he could remember? This...proximity to her. He craved it. He  _needed_  it. And if he started talking to her, he would say something to drive her away. He knew it, and it terrified him.

Maybe if he could keep this distance between them, he could hide it from her just a little bit longer. Hide what kind of animal he was — the violent thoughts and impulses that goaded him. The dim and fractured memories that haunted him — memories of pain both inflicted and received. He sometimes wondered how much of his amnesia was an unwillingness to remember, a subconscious cowardice that kept him from looking fully at the shadows that danced along the edges of his broken mind.

From the bits and pieces of memory that surfaced in flashbacks and nightmares, the person he had been was even worse than the brutal and damaged person he was now. No good person knew the things that he just instinctively knew — how to fight, how to kill. How to pick up pretty much any weapon — a 9 millimeter or shotgun, even a bow and arrow once — and use it as naturally as breathing. Even just knowing what they had done to him — he was pretty sure that torture like that hadn't happened to him by chance. Even if he couldn't remember exactly what it was, he knew in his heart that he must have done  _something_  to deserve it.

She sometimes talked about how her mutation worked, and every time she broached the subject his gut clenched with fear, his heart triphammering in his chest. She had taken his memories, taken  _him_ , into her mind. Even though she told him that she had locked them up right away — reassuring him earnestly that she wouldn't peek or pry — he couldn't stand the thought of it. It felt like a ticking time bomb, waiting for the moment when it would become clear to her exactly what he was. Her tolerance of him — even more than that, her  _affinity_  for him — was already inexplicable. If she got even a hint of what he was, this fragile arrangement between them would be shattered.

A cold wind whipped past him, making him shiver. Dry leaves were thick on the ground, and soon the first flakes of snow would start to fall. His metal-laced bones ached just thinking about it. He should have begun his southward migration already. Maybe that was the best that he could hope for — that today would be the day when she would recognize what he was, and would send him away. That today she would bring an end to this tormenting cycle of anticipation and apprehension. Because god help him, but he could not.

* * *

She smiled, warm and wide when she saw him, and he couldn't help himself, the tugging sensation in his chest pulling him closer to her than ever before. He stepped cautiously past the chopping block, able to see at this distance how her skin had turned golden from the sun over the past few months, tiny freckles dotting her cheekbones. Her hair was up in a casual knot at the back of her neck, one stray lock of platinum grazing her cheek. The cold breeze had pinkened her cheeks, and she wore a sweater under the old shirt she used as a smock.

"I was just tryin' to figure out if this one is done, ya know?" She spoke to him easily, as if they were just picking up a conversation from earlier. "That's always the hardest part, I think...as hard as gettin' the first brush stroke down on the canvas, is knowin' which brush stroke is meant to be the last."

She took a step or two back, narrowing her eyes at the canvas. "That was my biggest mistake when I first started paintin'. I would keep goin' and goin' until the piece looked so overworked I just wanted to pitch the whole thing in the trash." She set her brush down, wiping her hands on her smock before turning the easel towards him.

"What do you think? Does it look done to you?"

He couldn't help but take another step forward, the riot of color and movement drawing him in. He didn't know jack shit about art, but this painting was beautiful. It was everything he loved about these woods. She had somehow managed to capture the peace, the beauty — even that little hint of danger lurking underneath.

He looked up at her and nodded, watching her eyes widen and her breath catch for a moment in surprise at having elicited a response from him.

She busied herself with turning the easel back around and packing up her brushes, trying to hide that little smile that quirked her mouth, but he could smell her rush of happiness on the cool breeze. He breathed it in, trying not to let himself become giddy with it. Something was different about her today. She was practically humming with excitement.

Her gear stowed, she met his eyes again. "Let me get this stuff inside and get cleaned up a bit, and I'll bring out lunch, okay? I got somethin' special today."

Her eyes twinkled with mischief, and his heart managed to simultaneously jump and fall.  _What was she up to?_

She disappeared into the house with the leather satchel she used to store her box of brushes and her palette. He looked back over his shoulder for a minute, half-considering a cowardly retreat back into the woods. In the end, though, he drew even closer, moving around to the front of the easel again for another look.

He had never seen anything like this, never seen anything on canvas or paper that made him feel something like this. It was almost like a soft echo of the feelings she evoked in him — happiness, and warmth, and wonder. He reached out a finger, lightly brushing the edge of the canvas where he could tell the paint was dry, feeling under his fingertip the tiny ridges of the brushstrokes.  _She made this._

He heard the door start to open and by the time she stepped onto the porch he was back where he had been standing when she went into the house. The soft checkered blanket she usually used for picnicking was over her shoulder, but she was lugging a bigger basket than usual.

He stood his ground, frozen with indecision, as she came within a few feet of him, whisking the blanket out so that it almost brushed the toes of his boots. She sat down carefully on her end, busying herself in the basket.

She put out two plates as usual, one in front of her and one at the far edge of the blanket. A thick sandwich, some autumn strawberries, a creamy wedge of cheese. It was even more tempting than usual, being close enough to see and smell the food she was laying out for him. She always set a place for him, never showing if she was discouraged by what must have seemed to be his continued rejection.

Finally, she reached into the picnic basket again. "Just one more thing," she murmured, her brow slightly furrowed with concentration as she felt around with both hands.

"Aha!" she exclaimed, triumphantly, holding up a frosty bottle of beer in one hand and a bottle opener in the other.

She looked up at him, her deep dark eyes shining with hopefulness. "Care to join me?"

_Well, damn._

* * *

She held her breath as the man's eyes narrowed on the beer and then darted back to her face. At first she thought she might have pushed him too far as his gaze blazed over her, assessing, his eyes wary and suspicious. She had to stifle a sigh of relief as whatever he found in her face seemed to ease his tension. His hard expression softened, looking almost amused.

He sat down, off the edge of the blanket but within reach of his plate. She tried not to bounce with glee. He raised a sardonic eyebrow in her direction.

"Um...oh!" She hurriedly set the beer and bottle opener in the neutral territory of the blanket between them.

He hesitated for a moment and then reached out, pulling them towards him and popping the top. She watched, rapt, as he tilted his head back and took the first deep swallow, his tanned throat working. He closed his eyes and sighed, the look on his face damn near to ecstasy, and she busied herself back in the basket before he could catch her watching him.

She focused her gaze on her hands, popping a bottle of her own. She wasn't usually a beer person, but she had to admit it went well with the cool autumn breeze and the company of this man.

They ate in companionable silence for awhile, Marie commenting from time to time about the next painting she had planned, the book that she was reading, how she should really get on with chopping wood now that winter was coming...

At that he smiled, a real genuine smile, and she smiled back reflexively before she realized.

She felt humiliation flush her cheeks. "You...you..." she sputtered.

She put her hands over her face, groaning. "I  _knew_  it! You saw all of that...my pathetic attempt at wood-choppin'." She peeked through her fingers. The smile had faded from his face, his eyes growing wary again.

She suddenly saw the humor in the situation. One giggle rose up in her chest, and then another. Soon she was laughing uncontrollably. "I...and then the axe fell right outta my hands...and then I didn't even know which way to chop it..." She could barely squeak the words out between gales of laughter. He started chuckling too, and the sight of him made her laughter worse until finally she flopped down on her back on the blanket, holding her sides, taking deep breaths to try to calm herself.

"Ow," she said ruefully, letting her eyes drift closed. "I don't think I've laughed like that since I was a kid."

Suddenly a shadow blocked the sun and she opened her eyes to find his upper body looming over her. She froze as his hand came towards her face, her breath catching in her throat.

"Be...be careful," she managed.

His eyes met hers, intent, and he nodded. Then his hand reached forward, brushing the strand of hair out of her eyes, carefully tracing it behind her ear.

He held her gaze for an electric moment and then sat back, pushing back to the edge of the blanket.

She turned on her side, watching him, not sure what to make of him. He took another bite of his sandwich and tilted the beer bottle up, even though it was obviously empty. Was he...nervous?

She sat up slowly, her heart thumping. She dug in the basket again, pulling out another beer. She held it up, watching the light gleam through the bottle.

"I'll trade you for this one." She heard her own voice, soft and raspy, and wondered at her boldness.

He looked at her, suspicion in his eyes again. She saw him tense his muscles as if to rise.

"Wait...don't go. Please." The lock of hair fell over her eyes again, and she pushed it back impatiently. "Just your name. That's all I want. Somethin' to call you by."

He continued to regard her watchfully.

"I just..." She stopped, wondering if she was risking driving him away for good. She took a deep breath and continued. "I promised you I wouldn't peek at your memories, and I haven't. But sometimes I get them anyway. Sometimes they come out when I'm sleeping..."

He leaped to his feet, his hands clenched in fists by his side. She hurried to stand also, taking a step back to avoid spooking him more.

"I...I didn't mean...not just that one. The real bad one, when they put the metal in you. I mean, I got that one, but it's not the only one."

She could hear him breathing roughly, short panting gulps of air rasping through his throat. A snarl tore from him, low and deep, and she saw the claws shimmering at the surface of his skin. At first she thought he was angry with her, and then she saw the pain and self-hatred in his eyes.

She was furious with herself. Why couldn't she explain it better?

"I didn't mean it like that, to make you feel bad. I just...I saw when you met Gus. I know that other name — Wolverine. And I know that it's not really who you are. I mean it is, but it isn't. Just like I'm not Rogue, but I am. And I thought if you could tell me who you really are, I mean your real name, I would be able to..."

She stopped, uncertain of what she was even trying to say. "Dammit, this is comin' out all wrong." She felt a lump rise up in her throat, tears starting to sting her eyes. He didn't look as angry but he was still frozen in place, his whole body tense.

"I just know...I know that people have hurt you. And I know it's hard to open yourself up to someone after somethin' like that. It's hard for me too, but I'm tryin'. For you. And I thought maybe you could try too. If not for me, then for..." she trailed off. "For...beer," she finished awkwardly, feeling beyond foolish. The plan had seemed so much better in her head.

She saw him turn his head, looking toward the woods again as if planning his escape. Then he looked back at her, and a shudder seemed to run through his whole body. His stance relaxed just a little.

"Logan." The word was barely understandable, a rusty growl formed into speech between his clenched teeth.

She felt her heart leap in her chest. "Logan?" she repeated tentatively.

He clenched his fists and released them, taking a restless step. "Logan." It was clearer that time, more like a word than a growl.

She felt the smile spread across her face as relief rushed through her. "Logan," she repeated. "It...it suits you."

He looked uncomfortable, turning again towards the woods.

"Wait!" She held up the beer. "You forgot this." She smiled. "A deal's a deal."

His eyes searched her face for a long moment. "Not for beer," he finally said. "For  _you_."

She felt the blush rising up in her cheeks but he had already turned away, his loping stride taking him back into the depths of the woods.

* * *

[Please review! :-D]


	9. The Words

_Not for beer. For_ _ you _ _._

The words echoed in her head, making it difficult for Marie to find sleep. She had spent weeks trying to get the man to talk, and now that he had spoken...

Six little words, that's all he had said, and yet just remembering them was enough to make her heart beat faster, to make her stomach flutter. His name, and then...

_Not for beer. For_ _ you _ _._

She turned the words around and around in her mind, wondering what the hell she was getting herself into. She had come out to this cabin with a single purpose — to be completely alone, to gain control of her skin. When had that goal been eclipsed by the need to win Logan's trust?

_Pretty much the second he risked his life to save yours_ , she acknowledged wryly. Looking back, from the day that the mountain lion had attacked her — from the moment when Logan had rushed to her defense and she had taken him into her head — her focus had shifted. Learning more about him and winning his trust had become more important to her even than controlling her mutation.

At first she had told herself that it was just so she could apologize. He had been hurt so much, she didn't want him to think that she had stolen his gift deliberately, trading her injury for his. But then, after she had told him that — why had she kept on, trying to bring him closer? What was she hoping to accomplish?

Maybe it was as simple as wanting to justify how he felt about her. Seeing herself in Logan's thoughts — how much warmth and comfort he derived from being near her — maybe she had just wanted to live up to that image. But, no...that didn't seem to fit. She wasn't trying to bolster her own ego. Nor was she doing this out of some sort of altruistic notion. He wasn't some kind of charity project.

_For_ _ you _ _._

How could his words affect her so much?

_Because you like him_ , she realized, the notion managing to feel both surprising and yet like something she had known all along. She tried to dismiss the thought. How could she like someone she didn't even know?  _But you_ _do_ _know him_ , she argued with herself.  _You have him in your head. You've seen his thoughts and his memories. You've spoken to him for weeks, even if he never spoke back before today._

She sat upright in bed, giving up on sleep entirely.  _Could it be that simple?_

She went downstairs and started to make some chamomile tea, letting the fragrant steam from the cup soothe her unquiet mind. She stared into the swirling grounds of tea, frustrated with herself. Why did she have to think things to death? Maybe she didn't. Maybe she could leave the planning and strategy to people like Scott. She was the Rogue, and she had always been prone to impulsive decisions — even if they didn't always work out so great. She liked being with Logan, and he liked being with her. Maybe she could just trust her gut for now, and see what happened.

* * *

She woke up with her head feeling fuzzy, and took a longer than usual shower before dressing warmly. Frost had started to gather on the windowpanes in the morning. Soon it would be too cold to paint outside, already sometimes her fingers were growing clumsy in the chilly air.

She took her breakfast out to the porch swing as usual. She was still shaking off the effects of her sleepless night, and so it took her a few minutes to realize that something was different. She took her coffee with her, walking out to the chopping block. She touched the splinters left behind thoughtfully.

Had he come while she was sleeping, or while she was in the shower? Whenever he had done it, he had split all the wood for her, stacking it neatly on the rack against the house. She smiled, thinking of how they had laughed together yesterday when she had reminisced about her wood-chopping disaster. She felt a new confidence in the decision she had made last night. She liked him, and for now she would trust her gut.

She picked up a small piece of bark that had been left behind on the stump, putting it in her pocket. She finished her breakfast, and then went back inside the cabin. She rummaged around until she found a piece of twine. She poked a hole in the bark, and pulled out a tube of her lesser-used acrylic paint and a small brush. "FOR LOGAN" she painted on the bark, and then tied it to a six-pack of beer. She went back outside and left the gift on the chopping block for him.

* * *

The beer had disappeared some time during the morning, but it was afternoon before he showed himself. She had just flicked out the picnic blanket, wondering if he was even going to appear today, and he was suddenly there.

He looked the same as ever — a little wary, in his jeans and flannel shirt. She wondered if he was never cold, or if he simply didn't own a jacket. She set out the food, pretending not to notice his apparent struggle with himself as he ranged closer, and then a little bit away, and then back. Finally he sat down on the corner of the blanket.

She took a bite of her sandwich.

"Thank you for choppin' the wood," she said.

He grunted. "You're no good at it."

She couldn't help the huff of surprised laughter that escaped her. He tensed up, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"Sorry," he muttered, looking down at his clenched fists, and her amusement abruptly died.

"No," she said seriously. "I mean...don't be sorry. I like that you're honest. I don't like when people say stuff they don't really mean." His eyes met hers again, searchingly, as if trying to gauge her sincerity. Finally he nodded, and his tension seemed to ease a bit.

She smiled. "And you're right...I'm absolutely no good at wood-choppin'."

His mouth quirked in return, and they ate in companionable silence for awhile.

"I'm not that good at...talkin'," he finally offered up.

"You seem to be doin' okay to me," she said pragmatically. "And you're a real good listener," she added.

His eyes narrowed briefly on her face, as if he thought she might be mocking him. She kept her gaze steady on his, wondering when he would stop being so skittish.

He finally looked down at his sandwich, taking a bite. "You make a good sandwich," he said.

She chuckled. "There's not much to makin' a sandwich, but I do think I'm a good cook. My momma thought that was real important, and started teachin' me when I was just a toddler. I've been out of practice lately — you know, at the school people do most of the cookin' for ya — but since I've been here I've been tryin' to do more. It's been fun. I was thinkin' I might try to keep it up when I go back...ya know, take some classes or somethin'."

He nodded.

She had finished her sandwich, and wrapped her hands around her knees. She leaned her face back to soak up the sun.

"What kind of stuff are you good at?" she asked him.

He didn't answer for awhile. She waited, thinking it might be easier for him to talk if she wasn't looking at him. When he still didn't answer she had the wild notion that he had silently left, and was relieved when she opened her eyes to see him still sitting there, apparently thinking over his response.

"I can fight," he finally said. "And hunt. The metal, and the healin'. They help with both of that. And just survivin', I guess. I don't know what'd kill me. Maybe nothin'."

She let his words sink in. It made something clench in her chest, thinking about how he knew how hard he was to kill. He must have been hurt a lot to know something like that, but she also knew that he would not want her pity. "That's...that's strange to think about," she settled on saying. "Not dyin', I mean. I don't know how I'd feel about that."

He nodded again, but looked a little uncomfortable anyway, so she cast about for a change in subject.

"You must know a lot about these woods," she finally said. "I never spent a lot of time in country like this before, but I really like it."

He looked out at the trees for awhile, and then back at her. She waited patiently, having adjusted remarkably quickly to his halting style of conversation. "I belong out here," he said eventually. "Don't like the cities, or lots of people. Makes me edgy."

"I know what you mean." She lay back, resting her head on her arms. "I was real excited to visit cities at first — bein' from Nowhere Mississippi, I couldn't wait to see the big cities like they had in movies. But I guess bein' a sixteen-year-old runaway ain't the same view as those characters in the movie had. The cities were just...hard, and cold. Too many people, and nobody cared about anybody. I like it much better when I'm around people I know. And I like how quiet it is out here, and all the animals." She smiled. "Well, except for that mountain lion."

He grunted. "They don't usually mess with people."

She rolled her head to look at him. "Just my luck, I guess." She took a deep breath. "Thanks again. I mean, for saving me. And I'm sorry I hurt you."

He had leaned back now too, looking up at the cloudy sky. He made an indistinct grunt that she interpreted as 'Don't worry about it.'

She watched the clouds drifting by. "What other kinds of animals are around here?" she asked awhile later.

"Lots of stuff. Moose. Coyotes. Fishers..."

"What's that?"

He thought about it for awhile. "Like a big weasel. Mean suckers."

"Oh. I'll have to look out for those. Death by weasel doesn't sound too fun either."

He snorted. "With your luck...keep an eye out for rattlers too. And black bear. A few of those still around."

"Anything that  _won't_  kill me? I thought I was doin' well seein' a couple a deer and a beaver..."

He thought some more. "Lots of those. And rabbits. Porcupines. Otters. Skunks. Badgers..."

She turned her head to look at him. "Badgers?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I've always wanted to see a badger. My favorite book when I was a kid was about a badger named Frances. You ever read that one?" He shook his head.

She looked at the sky again, remembering some of the good parts of her childhood. The little white rocking chair in her bedroom, where she would sit and read her tattered copy of "Bedtime for Frances."

"After my parents kicked me out...when I was hitchin', I ended up in Washington D.C. for awhile. Heard the National Zoo was free, and they had every kinda animal there. So I went, but they didn't have any badgers. I was real disappointed."

They were silent for awhile, and her mind had started to drift to other subjects.

"I can show 'em to you," he suddenly said.

"Huh?"

"Badgers. If you still want to see 'em."

She sat up. "Really?"

"Yeah. Better go soon, though. They don't get out as much when it's cold."

"Tonight?"

He smiled at her excitement. "Tomorrow night. That'll give me time to find the sett again. And the moon'll be near full."

She looked at his face. He looked so much younger when he smiled, the lines of wariness and strain gone, the amber of his eyes glowing soft and warm.

_You like him_ , she thought again. "Tomorrow night," she agreed.

* * *

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	10. The Poem

Logan ran his fingertip down the spine of the book, tracing the letters embossed in red on the golden spine.  _A Further Range by Robert Frost_. The red cloth cover made the stains almost imperceptible, but to him the scent was unmistakable. It was the scent of her blood and his, mixed.

She probably hadn't even realized she had left it behind. He had come back later, unable to stop thinking about her and everything that had happened after the mountain lion attacked, and had found it in the reeds by the lake.

It was wrong of him to keep it, he knew that. The date on the inside said '1936.' It was probably valuable, and even if not, it was still personal.  _Hers_. He knew how strange — creepy, even — it would seem to anyone. And yet it had been weeks, and still he kept the book in his lonely den, inhaling the scent of her from its pages.

He held the spine of the book in his palm and it fell open to the poem he had read the most. Four short stanzas, and yet they fascinated him. It was like her painting — he had never been interested in poetry before, never thought it had any relevance to him, and yet this poem evoked feelings so intense that at times he felt they might split his very skin. His eyes skimmed over the lines for the hundredth time.

_Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast_   
_In a field I looked into going past,_   
_And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,_   
_But a few weeds and stubble showing last._

_The woods around it have it — it is theirs._   
_All animals are smothered in their lairs._   
_I am too absent-spirited to count;_   
_The loneliness includes me unawares._

_And lonely as it is, that loneliness_   
_Will be more lonely ere it will be less —_   
_A blanker whiteness of benighted snow_   
_With no expression, nothing to express._

_They cannot scare me with their empty spaces_   
_Between stars — on stars where no human race is._   
_I have it in me so much nearer home_   
_To scare myself with my own desert places._

He should be leaving now — he had told Marie he would meet her at dusk to see the badgers — and yet he lingered for a moment longer, looking over the words.

_I am too absent-spirited to count._

He didn't know how some author three quarters of a century ago had managed to put into words exactly how he had lived his life before Marie came into it. All of his life that he could remember — three years — and he had spent it just surviving. No one knew him, no one cared if he lived or died. He thought of numberless days spent moving through woods and towns like a ghost, like a shadow. _Too absent-spirited to count._

And now there was Marie, the pleasure-pain she brought to him cutting him so deeply, right to the very heart of him. His whole body was like a limb that had been numb to sensation for so long, suddenly awoken. Feeling everything — every exquisite touch, every excruciating hurt — with devastating clarity.

_And lonely as it is, that loneliness_   
_Will be more lonely ere it will be less —_   
_A blanker whiteness of benighted snow_   
_With no expression, nothing to express._

Winter was coming. Already he could feel the chill of it in his metal-laced bones, his body still shivering from when he had washed himself in the frigid river. If he had not met Marie he would have continued his lonely journey southward already. He couldn't let himself have another accident like last winter, the thought of it was like death to him. Maybe as close to death as someone like him would ever get.

Even if he was going to stay, he should make plans. Take the bike before the snow got too deep and find the fight circuit for awhile. Rake in some money, lay in supplies, and figure out some way to heat the stripped-out camper shell in which he had made his lonely home. Every day he thought he would go this time, after he saw her. And yet when the time came to go he would delay just a little longer, just one more day...

What was he doing? What could he possibly become to Marie, or Marie to him? The hope was so wild, so unattainable, that his mind shied away from the very thought of it. That she could come to care for him...he shouldn't even wish that. She was everything that he was not — smart, and good, and special. How could he even think of tainting that with everything that he was? His damaged mind, the jagged, broken edges of his life. His very nature — violence incarnate, more beast than man. Places inside him so dark and empty that even he was scared to look directly into them.

_I have it in me so much nearer home_   
_To scare myself with my own desert places._

He sighed and closed the book, slipping it under his pillow. He turned off the lantern. His eyes — the eyes of a predator — quickly adjusted to the dimness. He had promised to show Marie the badgers tonight, and he would keep that promise. And then tomorrow...tomorrow...

He couldn't even tell himself the lie. Tomorrow he would be back here, wishing he had the strength to take himself away from her, and yet unable to leave.

* * *

He appeared as usual — suddenly, silently, out of the gloaming. To someone else he might have seemed an intimidating figure — his burly, broad-shouldered frame silhouetted against the twilight, the dim porch light casting shadows on his rugged face. Knowing him as she did, however, she could see the hesitation and shyness in his approach. She smiled secretly to herself. One of them was scared, but it wasn't her.

She stood up from the porch swing before he could change his mind, almost tumbling down the porch steps in her haste.

"Did you find it? The badgers'...sett, did you call it?"

"Think so."

He had an electric lantern in his hand and he turned it on, obviously for her benefit, and headed out towards the woods. She fell into step beside him.

"How do you know so much about animals? I woulda thought badgers lived in a den, or somethin'. I never knew there was a special word for it."

He shrugged. "Read some guidebook. Hiker must've left it. But how to find 'em and all...already seemed to know that."

She had been wondering about that for awhile, and decided to finally ask. "That memory I got of you and Gus..." She struggled to put it into words. "It seemed like you could only remember a few weeks. Like there was nothin' from before...from before they put the metal in you."

"Yeah."

"So you don't remember anythin' at all before...how long ago was that?"

She could see him growing more tense, but they kept a steady pace forward. "Winter was comin' when I broke out. And two more in between."

It took a minute but she figured out his meaning. She stopped, stunned for a moment, and had to stumble to catch up with him. "Three years? That's all the memories you have?"

She could see him trying to get the words right, his brow furrowed with concentration. "I get flashes sometimes. Bits and pieces of somethin' from before. And I know how to do things — like drivin' a car and stuff. But I think they did somethin' to me. Took the rest away, for some reason."

She was trying to read his expression in the failing light. His hands were clenched in fists, but he didn't look angry. Could he be...was he  _ashamed_?

"Logan..." She put her hand on his arm, stopping him in place. He avoided her eyes.

"Thanks. I mean, thanks for tellin' me. It must be hard to talk about."

She suddenly realized what she had done. Her bare hand was on his sleeve, only inches from his own exposed skin.

She jerked back her hand in horror. "Oh!" She shoved her hands into her pockets. How had she not thought to wear gloves? "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean...I didn't mean to touch you. I'll be more careful, I promise."

Now his eyes were on her, and she was the one avoiding his gaze.

"It's okay," he said gruffly.

"No..." she suddenly felt close to tears. "I shoulda worn gloves. I didn't mean to...I'm usually so careful..."

"Marie." His rough voice interrupted her ramblings, forcing her eyes to his. "I'm not scared of you."

"I..." She didn't know what to say to that. Everyone was scared of her. Everyone  _should be_ scared of her.

"I already hurt you once. I don't wanna..."

He made a gruff noise of frustration. Before she realized it, he had reached out, grasping her sweater-covered wrist and drawing her hand from her pocket. He pulled her hand towards him, ignoring her reflexive resistance, until it was resting on his arm again.

"I  _said_  I'm not scared of you."

"Logan!" Even as she started to protest, her hand traitorously acted on its own, the feel of the warm flannel under her palm irresistible. She watched in distant amazement as her hand moved along his arm, feeling the firm skin under the fabric, experiencing the novel sensation as his muscles bunched and shifted beneath her touch.

Her hand drifted from his shoulder down to his chest and he shuddered. A sound resonated from his chest, deep and low - more of a purr than a growl, and she felt the tickle of it on her palm. She suddenly seemed to come back into her body. She felt a fiery blush flame her cheeks and she yanked her hand away, shoving it back in her pocket.

She moved blindly forward, feeling rather than hearing him fall into step next to her, too embarrassed to look at him. Thoughts and doubts and recriminations jostled for space in her head. He was just being kind, wasn't he? Saying he wasn't afraid of her? He certainly hadn't been asking her to  _grope_  him like she had...

Finally she must have stumbled one too many times and she felt his hand gently guiding her by the elbow.

"Easy," he said. "This way."

She followed him mutely.

"It's up ahead." She forced herself to look up at him, relieved to find that his eyes were fixed on the trail ahead. "Remember, they don't see too good, but they hear and smell everything. Stay downwind and stay quiet."

She nodded. Come to think of it, if it would keep her from embarrassing herself further in front of Logan, she might never speak again.

He circled around until she felt the wind on her face, and then he crept slowly forward. She stayed behind him, coming to rest on her knees next to him when he stopped.

He held the lantern up, spilling the light out over the forest floor. He pointed, and she followed his finger. At first it looked like nothing, just another bit of leaf-strewn ground, but then she saw the exposed tree roots and the darker hollow of the tunnel entrance.

They sat in silence for several minutes, and then suddenly an inquisitive black-and-white nose poked out of the hole. Marie smothered a squeak of excitement, forgetting everything else. Soon one badger emerged, and then two more tumbled after it. Marie watched, entranced, as they ambled around on their short little legs, making a strange chirruping sound.

One balanced precariously on its fat bottom, scratching its stomach assiduously, while another rolled on its back, little black legs bicycling furiously. Marie was fascinated. They looked exactly like she had imagined, their wizened little black-and-white faces just like Frances from her book. One popped back into the sett and then emerged comically tail-first, backing out of the hole and dragging a tangle of moss to be discarded.

"Cleanin' house," Logan whispered in her ear. She had almost forgotten he was there, and his warm breath in her ear made her shiver.

"Cold?" he asked.

She wasn't really, but she ran her hands over her arms as if she was. "Yeah. But I don't want to go yet, is that okay?"

He nodded, and then suddenly she felt his warmth at her back. She drew in a surprised breath but he was careful, shifting so his chest warmed her back, his arms bracing her but his hands safely away from hers.

After a moment she relaxed, leaning back into the seductive heat of his body. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent and nearness. She couldn't remember ever being this close to anyone. Even when she was dating Bobby, he always tried not to touch her unless they were actually fooling around, and even that was limited to a few kisses with scarves and a few touches with gloved hands. He had never wanted to just be close to her, was never willing to risk his safety unless his own gratification was involved.

 _I'm not scared of you._  She heard Logan's words in her head, and for the first time she started to believe them.

* * *

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	11. The Gift

Marie stepped out onto the porch, breathing in the crisp morning air. Her indrawn breath turned to a shriek as she dropped her breakfast plate, backing up against the front door.

She pressed her hand to her mouth as she took in the gory sight hanging from her porch ceiling, dripping blood onto the weathered floorboards.

She heard a rustling and Logan burst from the woods, his face fierce, his claws extended.

She barely restrained herself — the urge to seek shelter in his arms was so overpowering. Who had tracked her here, to threaten her like this? Magneto? He was her only enemy, but his torments were usually more subtle...

Logan skidded to a stop at the base of the porch steps, and to her confusion he looked puzzled.

She gestured to the mangled animal corpses. "I..."

Her confusion increased as he snicked the claws back in, rocking back on his heels.

"From me," he said gruffly.

"What?" She didn't understand. Why would Logan be threatening...

He furrowed his brow at what must have been her continued look of bewilderment.

"Meat," he added helpfully.

"Oh," she breathed weakly. "Oh!" she repeated as understanding dawned. It wasn't a threat...it was a  _gift_.

She saw hurt flash across his face before his features lapsed into their usual impassive expression. He silently climbed the steps, snicking a claw out and cutting the skinned carcasses down. He wrapped the string they were hanging from around his finger a few times and slung them over his shoulder, apparently oblivious to the gory mess. He started to walk away.

"Wait..." She stumbled down the porch steps after him. "Logan, wait..."

He turned around but looked at the ground, avoiding her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I — I didn't understand. Can I...can I still have it?"

He looked at her then, his eyes again suspicious as if she might be mocking him.

"I'm serious. I'll make it for dinner. Is it..." Holy hell, she had absolutely no idea, but she hoped it wasn't her friends the badgers. "Is it...squirrels?" she finally hazarded.

The tension seemed to leave his body. His mouth twitched. "Rabbits," he said, amusement now in his voice.

She smiled back in relief. "Well, you don't have to make fun of me, Grizzly Adams," she teased. "They look a lot different with their skin on, ya know."

His brow furrowed again. "Who's Grizzly Adams?"

She laughed. "Honestly, I don't really know. My momma used to call my daddy that when he did somethin' outdoorsy."

He seemed to consider that for awhile. "You really want 'em?" he finally asked.

"Yeah. Definitely." She was racking her brain...she was almost certain she had seen  _Joy of Cooking_  somewhere in the cabin's library. "I've never eaten rabbit before. I think you'd have to go to a fancy French restaurant in Jackson or Birmingham to get somethin' like that where I'm from."

"Okay." He held his hand out, the carcasses dangling from the string. She hesitated.

"If you don't want 'em..."

"No! It's not that. I'm just...I'm not wearin' gloves."

"Oh." He looked at her bare hands. "When're you gonna stop bein' so nervous about that?"

"Stop..." She pulled the cuffs of her sweater down uneasily. "What do you mean, stop bein' nervous? I can't stop bein' nervous about it. Ever. People'd get hurt."

He grunted, a little unsympathetically in her opinion. "But it takes a while to kick in, right? So maybe you don't hafta worry about it all the time."

"You..." She felt her cheeks flush with anger. "You make it sound like…like I'm bein'  _neurotic_  or somethin'. Like it's  _nothin'_." She took in a deep breath. "I could  _kill_  somebody."

He shrugged. "Not me."

She stifled the urge to kick him. "So...so what're you sayin'?" She was practically sputtering in anger. "That you want me to —  _what_? Just run around, touchin' you willy-nilly?"

 _Oh, Jesus Christ!_ She heard her own words replay in her head a millisecond later and cringed. She felt the blush set her cheeks on fire, wishing the ground would swallow her up.

His eyes darkened. He stepped closer to her. "Yeah."

She had swung from anger to embarrassment so quickly, and now she didn't even know  _what_  she was feeling. Her heart was still pounding, her blood thrumming through her veins.

"Yeah, what?" she breathed.

His voice was a low rumble. "Maybe you should. Just touch me. Whenever you want." He took a step even closer.

She felt her heart stutter. She started to step back, but the porch steps were behind her. "I..." What was he saying? She looked into the warm golden-amber of his eyes, speechless. She felt like her brain had stopped working.

Finally he looked away. He shifted his feet and then shrugged. "You can't hurt me. I heal. So why not? That's why you came out here, right? To get control?"

Her emotions see-sawed again, as she felt tears prickling her eyes. She looked down at the ground. Was he just being mean now, taunting her with what she couldn't have? "To get control by keepin'  _away_  from everyone," she said bitterly. "Not by...by gettin'  _close_  to someone. It doesn't work that way."

He ducked a little, peering into her face. Then he looked away, and sighed.

"I didn't mean to make you sad," he said softly. "It's just..." He stopped, apparently trying to put something difficult into words. "I was listenin' before," he finally said. "When you talked about your mutation. You hafta not be scared. And with me, you don't hafta be. So maybe it  _could_  work that way."

She swiped at her eyes, considering his words. "Even...even if I didn't kill you, I'd still hurt you. I don't wanna do that either. I'd still be scared of that."

They both stood in thought for a minute.

"How long?" he abruptly asked.

"How long what?"

"How long 'til it kicks in?"

Now it was her turn to shrug. "I don't know...it's not like I've tried it out a bunch of times. It's always been an accident."

"So let's find out."

She felt her jaw drop. "Find out? You mean...just touch you 'til I hurt you?"

"Maybe that's how you do it. See how long it takes, and try to make it take longer."

"And hurt you every time? Why would you even let me do that?"

That intense gaze was back, his eyes seeming to glow as he looked at her. "Maybe it's worth it to me." His voice was a deep rasp. "To have you touch me."

Christ, she was blushing again. There was no misinterpreting  _that_.

He held her gaze for another minute, and then looked away. She saw a shadow of hurt cross his face, and she realized that she hadn't given him any kind of response.

"Have dinner with me."

His head jerked back around to her, surprise in his eyes. She felt her blush deepen, but her voice struck her as being remarkably steady under the circumstances.

"I mean...it's not like I can eat two rabbits on my own," she said, feeling the smile start to curl her lips.

His own mouth quirked in response. He raised an eyebrow, holding the rabbits out by the string.

"Take 'em from me."

"I..."

His voice was firm with just a hint of challenge. "Take 'em from me. And I'll come to dinner."

She looked at him uncertainly. His outstretched arm was steady, his body relaxed.

She reached a hand out, and hesitated.

"Go on," he urged.

She reached all the way, gingerly catching the string between her thumb and index finger, a hair's breadth from his hand. She tugged, but he kept the string wrapped tightly around his finger.

"You can do better'n that," he teased.

She bit her bottom lip between her teeth.

This time she reached out with both hands, lifting the rabbits by the string with one hand while the other hand worked quickly, unwrapping the loops of string from around his finger. She felt her hand brush against his warm fingers - once, and then again. She looked up at him nervously, but he kept his steady gaze on hers. Her fingers started to tremble but she got the last loop off, pulling the rabbits free, feeling the weight of them drop into her other hand.

She pulled them towards her. She looked back at him, slowly smiling in triumph. "I got 'em."

The quirk of his mouth widened into a real smile in response. "Yeah. You did."

"So...I guess I'll see you tonight."

"Guess so."

He turned back towards the woods as she started up the steps of the porch.

"Logan?"

He stopped, turning to face her again.

"Thanks," she said, feeling an unexpected swell of emotion choke up her throat. "For the gift."

* * *

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	12. The Dinner

It had actually taken consultation with four different cookbooks before Marie had found a recipe for rabbit she thought she could approximate with what she had on hand. Thankfully she had finally been rescued by Volume 2 of Julia Child's  _Mastering the Art of French Cooking_. She'd had to skimp on the 'marinate-for-24-hours-beforehand' part, and she was damned if she'd risk poisoning them both by trying to go out and find juniper berries, but otherwise things were coming together.

She had taken a tour through the cabin's liquor stash and found both red wine and cognac that were probably way too expensive to be meant for cooking, but had shrugged and opened them anyway. The rabbit meat had browned nicely and was now bubbling away in a casserole dish with the marinade, wine, and beef stock. It smelled amazing.

She had realized pretty early on in the process that "tonight" wasn't exactly the most specific time for planning purposes, and she had no idea when to expect him. She had been distracted enough while she was cooking, but now that everything was close to ready she felt butterflies stirring in her stomach again.

All day she had been trying not to think too much about what he had said to her — what he had offered her. The opportunity to touch him. Not just to be kind, not out of pity, but because he actually  _wanted_  her to. And she wanted to, she admitted to herself. She wanted to a  _lot_.

But he wasn't talking about the type of touching she and Bobby had done — carefully shielded with clothes and gloves and scarves. He had asked her to  _really_  touch him — skin to skin — and the thought was both thrilling and terrifying.

She had experienced just a taste of what it would be like — his warmth and nearness, the brush of his skin against hers. It was intoxicating, and yet she couldn't ignore the risks. Even if he was okay with being hurt, she was not okay with hurting him — especially knowing how much pain he had endured already.

_Maybe that's how you do it. See how long it takes, and try to make it take longer._

Could he be right about that? If she knew for certain that one or three or even five seconds of contact wouldn't hurt him, then could she let the fear go for even that amount of time? And if that was possible — touch without fear, however briefly — could that amount of time be stretched?

_Just touch me. Whenever you want._

She thought about having that kind of freedom — the freedom to touch him, whenever she wished. He was so wary, so guarded — did he even understand what he was offering her? Was that kind of trust something he was capable of giving?

She poured some of the fancy wine into a glass, and took it out on the porch for a breath of fresh air, hoping it would calm her jittery nerves. The temperature had dropped sharply. She could see her breath in the air, and ominous clouds were gathering in the west. She hoped that Logan wouldn't get caught in the storm.

As soon as she had the thought he was there, emerging from the woods. She watched him approach, his long lean frame silhouetted against the stormy twilight. As he got closer she felt her heart thud faster, the porch light revealing his golden eyes intensely focused on her. The butterflies in her stomach were in full flight now. She took a big gulp of her wine. She should have started drinking earlier.

* * *

Marie swirled the last bite of rabbit in the cognac sauce and popped it in her mouth, leaning back with a sigh of satisfaction.

She hadn't bothered moving her exercise mat and heavy bag, figuring they'd be more comfortable sitting on the couch in front of the coffee table than eating at the dining table anyway. She thought now that it had been an inspired decision. Logan had further demonstrated his Grizzly Adams skills by building an excellent fire in the fireplace, and the softly flickering firelight and the combined effects of the cognac sauce and the wine she had been drinking had her feeling very pleasantly buzzed.

"So you really ate that mountain lion? I always wondered."

He nodded. "Some. Meat doesn't keep too good in summer."

She leaned forward to empty the rest of the wine bottle into his glass. He seemed more at ease than he had ever been, but she noticed that he still shied away from providing details about how he lived. She instinctively knew not to pry but even so, she was starting to put some things together. Like that wherever he lived, he didn't seem to have electricity.

"How'd you cook it?"

"Smoked some. Roasted some."

The storm had arrived, but the patter of sleet against the windows and the rattle of the wind through the trees just made Marie feel even safer and cosier in the cabin, her belly warm with the excellent meal, her mind pleasantly hazy. She wondered what she had been so nervous about.

"Is that one of the things you knew from before? Like, not just the huntin' part, but what's good to eat, and how to skin it an' cook it an' all that?"

He nodded, his hair falling in front of his eyes again, and he pushed it back with an automatic gesture.

"Does that bother you?" She gestured with her wineglass. "Your hair I mean? I could cut it for ya."

He grew suddenly still, and she felt her cheeks flush, the hazy pleasant feeling disappearing instantly. "I mean, I used to do it for my cousins and stuff...you know, before my mutation. I didn't mean...I would wear gloves..." Christ, she was babbling. She took another sip of her wine nervously.

"Yeah," he said.

"Really?" She smiled.

He rumbled his assent, and she leaned forward to put her wineglass down.

"No gloves."

She froze. "What...what d'ya mean, 'no gloves'? What if..."

She stopped, mesmerized, as he reached to where her other hand was braced against the sofa cushion. His warm, slightly roughened fingertips brushed the back of her hand — once, twice, a third time.

He drew his hand back and she was able to breathe again, her other hand shaking as she set her wineglass on the coffee table with a slight clatter.

She bit her lip. "Why did you do that?"

He watched her for a long moment.

"Do you want this?" he asked abruptly.

"Want...what?"

"Touch."

She drew in a shaky breath. "Yeah." She was admitting it to herself as much as to him. "I really do."

His warm golden eyes glowed in the firelight, his deep low voice sending a shiver up her spine. "Then no gloves."

She twisted her bare hands nervously in her lap for a moment before nodding her agreement. "No gloves."

* * *

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	13. The Haircut

She set up one of the dining chairs in the middle of the kitchen floor, setting the comb and scissors on the counter nearby.

"It's easier if it's wet," she said a little hesitantly. "The kitchen sink has a sprayer..."

She lost some of her nervousness then, focusing as she was on containing her laughter as he contorted himself to fit his head in the kitchen sink. He shot her a look that threatened a water fight if she got too enthusiastic with her spraying, but she conscientiously managed to only wet his hair.

He straightened up, rubbing the towel over his hair. Then he shook his head like a shaggy dog, spraying water droplets on her and making her giggle again.

She settled him in the chair with a dry towel around his shoulders.

"Anythin' specific you want?"

He shrugged.

She combed it back and forth for a minute, trying to decide. "I won't cut it too short, but I'll get it out of your eyes, and shorter in back if ya like."

He grunted his assent.

She was still nervous at first, but relaxed into the task surprisingly quickly. At first she used only the comb and scissors, but as she got further she used her fingers to hold the hair, snipping along them. He had been right — her mutation did take long enough to kick in that the occasional brushes against his scalp or neck were not an issue.

She concentrated on the feel of his hair in her hands, his quiet breathing, the patter of sleet against the windows, and she realized that for the first time in a long time — maybe the first time since her mutation activated — she was feeling more pleasure than anxiety in touching someone.

* * *

Logan sat in the kitchen chair, lulled into a state of pleasant lassitude by the snip of the scissors and the feel of Marie's fingers gently feathering through his hair. The nervousness in her scent had faded away, and now nothing but the soft, sweet scent of her surrounded him. His belly was full of the delicious meal she had cooked, his body still warm from the fire despite the storm raging outside. Soon he would be out there again but for now he felt safe, and warm, and...

It took a little while of thinking for him to identify the rest of what he was feeling. The loneliness had been a part of him for so long, he hadn't realized what it would feel like to have it gone. It was just constantly there, like the ache of a healing bone. Now — at least for tonight — the ache had disappeared. It was like Marie's company had seeped inside him, filling up all the empty spaces with her warmth and comfort.

He hadn't known what to expect from tonight, had second-guessed his promise to come to dinner a hundred times after he left her. And yet, it had just been...easy. She didn't treat him as if he were stupid, like the dumb beast others seemed to think he was. Like he thought himself to be, most of the time. Even when his words got tangled up and he said the wrong thing, or when he ran into the ever-present roadblock of things he couldn't remember...she didn't seem to mind at all.

She didn't seem to fear him, either. Most respectable women did — they would see him coming and scurry away, pressing closer to their man if they had one, as if those slack-jawed and paunchy fools could really protect them from a predator like him. They made him feel like dirt.

And the women who weren't respectable — the fight club groupies, who pawed him as he left the cage — they made him feel even worse. At the same time as he reviled their touch, shrugging free of their grasping hands, they also brought into his mind half-remembered — or half-imagined? — images. Images of using women, roughly and cruelly. Of letting the darkness inside him have full reign, of letting the beast out to slaver and rut.

How far had he gone, in the part of his life he couldn't remember? Had he taken women by force, or was he just remembering the kinds of things that women like that would allow? The images would haunt his dreams for weeks afterwards, and he would wake with his body hard and unsatisfied and his mind sickened with his fears of what he might have done in that gaping chasm of time that was lost to him.

He closed his eyes, chasing away the dark thoughts. He couldn't even think of women like that — not now, with Marie's gentle hands on him, her soft enticing scent filling his lungs. He let her nearness soothe him. She was the opposite of those kinds of women. She was all gentle, hesitant touches where they were grasping and groping, soft sweet blushes instead of lascivious leers.

And yet for all her shyness, she was more erotic to him than those other women could ever be. What he felt for her was so much deeper — a slow, fevered burn. It was lust and yearning, desire and adoration, all mixed together in a way he had never imagined to be possible. He wanted every part of her — to hold her close to him, to rub his scent on her, to mark her body with his teeth, to hear her cry out his name as he...

The growl rumbled from him involuntarily, and the snipping of the scissors stopped.

"Oh. Did...did I hurt ya?" she asked.

He shook his head, unable to trust his voice. After a moment she started again, the new rush of nervousness fading again from her scent.

He took a deep breath, trying to get his thoughts under control. He wondered why he was pushing her so much about her mutation. He knew she thought he didn't understand how scared she was, but he did. He could smell her scent spike with nervousness, her dark deep eyes shadow with fear when she thought about touching him. She was worried about hurting him, and that only made something in him burn hotter. No one had ever cared about him like that.

Maybe there was a purpose to his worthless, aimless life after all. Maybe this healing, which had so many times seemed like a curse, might actually be a gift. One he could use to give her a gift in return. She wanted touch, and maybe he could give that to her. In the meantime, he had a healthy respect for her mutation. He vividly remembered the searing pain he had felt when he touched her for too long, but it didn't bother him. It was part of her.

Maybe that bite of pain was what was needed to keep his beast at bay. To make sure that he didn't push her too far, too fast. To make sure that animal from his nightmares never tainted her. In the meantime, his instincts were telling him that this was what she needed. Not just touch, but the touch of her skin to his. And what he needed...

God, what he needed was  _this_. The snipping of the scissors had tapered off, and now she was brushing both hands gently through his hair, fingernails scraping his scalp from time to time and making him shiver. He luxuriated in the soft, sweet touches, trying to suppress his shivers of pleasure. The way she touched him — with tenderness, with care. It seemed to feed some craving he didn't know he had — not for sex, but for affection. She stopped to blow the clippings from his neck, her warm breath on his nape sending a delicious jolt of arousal through him.

Even as his mind wandered among visions of pushing her back against the kitchen counter, tasting her for the first time and her mutation be damned — his body remained in its helpless languor, drinking in the first and only gentle touches in his memory.

She seemed to have settled into a similarly dreamy state, the running of her hands through his hair now undeniably a caress, all pretense of the haircut abandoned. A slow, sleepy arousal started to permeate her scent, washing over him. Their combined scents pooled around his body, and he thought he had never scented anything so delectable in his life. It made the beast in him surge closer to the surface. Wanting to protect her. To mark her and keep her. To show her that she belonged to him, and he belonged to her...

The growl rose up again, low and deep, and her hands stilled in his hair.

"Oh," she said, a little breathless. "I'm sorry, I must have...I'm done, I guess."

She shifted around in front of him, carefully lifting the towel from around his neck and setting it aside, her hands shaking slightly.

"Let me just make sure it's even from the front," she said, feathering her fingers into the hank of hair at his temple.

"Marie." He hardly recognized his own voice, thick and raspy with arousal.

She froze with her hand in his hair, her indrawn breath the only sign that she registered his hands as they brushed lazily up her hips to settle, warm and firm on her slender waist.

He pulled — slowly, inexorably — and she followed until she was sitting on his lap, straddling him. A low groan ripped from him as she sank her weight onto the hard ridge beneath his jeans, echoed by a soft, wordless noise of excitement from her.

She was blushing again but her eyes were bold, the luminous depths of them fixed on him, waiting with breathless anticipation for what he would do next. He looped one forearm behind her hips, holding her steady, while his other hand rubbed slowly up and down her back.

"Marie," he said again, dipping his head and breathing the words into the soft skin of her neck, feeling her pulse jump in response. He brushed his lips gently against her throat, flicking the throbbing pulse point with his tongue, reveling in the hushed shocked noise he drew from her.

It was his first taste of her — just the ghost of her sweet saltiness on his tongue, and it was intoxicating. He growled again, a deep rumble against her skin, breaking the contact for a moment to reset her mutation before pressing his mouth to her throat again. He felt drunk with the scent and sound and taste of her. Instinct took over, the rush of possessiveness impossible to resist as he lapped gently at her skin before nipping her sharply with his teeth.

He pulled back, slightly shocked at what he had done even as his arousal blazed higher seeing his mark on her skin. Instead of recoiling in disgust at his feral behavior, she responded with a broken moan and a slow instinctual undulation of her hips against his.

"Logan," she gasped, her hands clenching on his shoulders, and his name on her lips was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. Her hands were moving over him now, tentatively touching his chest through the soft flannel of his shirt.

His arms tightened reflexively, pressing her even more firmly against his hardness, making them both cry out. He couldn't stand it any longer, his hand winding into her hair to hold her head still as he kissed her for the first time. Her lips clung to his, softly, sweetly, and then he was coaxing her mouth open beneath him, pressing deeper, tasting her fully for the first time, until his head spun...

She pulled back, startled. "Logan!"

His head drooped for a minute before he jerked it upright, and he realized that her mutation had kicked in, stealing his strength.

"Are you okay?" she was asking anxiously, her voice coming to him as if from a distance.

"Yeah," he breathed. His hand tightened in her hair again as he shook off the effects of her mutation. "Hell, yeah," he ground out before diving back in for another kiss, taking advantage of her shock to delve into her open mouth. Savoring her, soft and warm and delicious and  _Marie_...

He felt her hands pressing against his chest and reluctantly pulled back, just enough to break contact. He kept his lips just a fraction from hers, their breaths still mingling.

"Are you...are you sure you're okay?"

"Better'n okay," he murmured. He leaned into her but she drew back, and so he settled for placing a line of soft sucking kisses down her throat. "Much better," he mumbled into the slightly damp skin. God, if only he had the words to tell her how this felt for him, to be able to touch her like this. Never in his wildest imaginings had he really thought that she would give someone like him access to her sweet body. That someone like her would give him these gentle touches, sending joy rushing through him with every tender stroke of her fingertips.

"Logan..."

He focused his hazy mind and realized she was still worried, her small body trembling slightly underneath his hands.

He tamped down hard on his arousal, bringing his head up to meet her gaze, his hand rubbing soothingly up and down her back. He had to do this right — make this right for her. He couldn't lose sight of that.

"Yeah, darlin'?"

"Are you sure you..." She halted her words abruptly. A slow smile started to spread across her face.  _"Darlin'?"_  she asked.

He had felt a jolt of fear when her words stopped, wondering if the unconscious endearment had scared her, but her smile made the tightness in his chest ease again. He nodded. He ran his fingertips over her cheek, tracing the delicate flush of pink over her cheekbone.

"Darlin'," he repeated, looking into her eyes. "Marie," he said, skimming his thumb over her kiss-plumpened lower lip. " _Mine_ ," he growled, the word escaping him without conscious thought.

Her eyes flared with an answering heat and this time she kissed him, pulling his head to hers, exhaling her soft sound of excitement into his open mouth. He felt the slightest buzz of her mutation this time and pulled free for just a moment before returning, kissing her soft and deep, sucking gently on her tongue.

He felt the buzz again — he was attuned to it now — and pulled free once more. He buried his face in her neck, breathing her in, paying more attention this time, pulling free as the buzz began. He wasn't wrong - that took a little longer that time.

She shifted in his lap, sending another jolt of arousal sizzling through his veins.

"Ah, fuck, darlin'..." He muttered the words into her skin, holding her still.

He placed a final sucking bite against her neck, lingering regretfully for a long moment before straightening up, cradling her head against his shoulder.

She grasped his shirt in her hands. "Did I do somethin' wrong?..."

"No," he growled, his hands tightening reflexively around her. "Hell, no, baby. I just..." He sighed, trying to will his body under control. "I wanted to give you time to get used to this. To take things slow."

She nuzzled into his shirt. "Maybe we don't have to go slow. Logan it feels  _so good_..."

Christ, she was luscious, so supple and responsive in his arms, and his body was aflame. He growled, pushing up into her softness again before he managed to gain a semblance of control over his actions. He was breathing hard, his arms shaking as he pulled her gently to stand before him.

He stood up also, knowing that if he didn't leave now he would never be able to force himself to go. And as much as his body was screaming at him to stay, his instincts were telling him to take it slow and careful with her. If her mutation was still activating it meant that she was still afraid on some level, and he wanted touch for her to be nothing but pleasure. And for him — maybe slow and careful was what he needed too. This was new to him too, and already he felt the beast within him scrabbling to the surface, howling at him to make her his completely.

He reached out, using her hair as a screen to cup her face in his hands. "Marie..." The words failed him.

She reached out also, stroking his cheek so tenderly his eyes closed with the pleasure-pain of it.

"I know," she said, her eyes understanding. She touched her lips wonderingly with her fingertips. "I got a little more of ya, when you were kissin' me. Just a little of what you were feelin'." She smiled. "Logan, it was...beautiful."

He couldn't help it, he pulled her into his body again, hugging her tight, hoping to wordlessly communicate all that he couldn't express. She hugged him back, pressing her face into his chest, breathing in his scent for a moment.

Finally he let her go, stepping back. He was already starting to feel cold, just at the thought of leaving.

"Do you hafta go?" she said quietly, echoing his thoughts.

 _No_ , he thought.  _Never want to leave you_. "Yeah," he said, moving to the door before he lost the battle.

"I'll...maybe I'll see ya tomorrow," she said.

He allowed himself to touch her one more time, his hand cradling her cheek, and she closed her eyes, nuzzling into his touch. "Tomorrow," he said.

* * *

She sighed as his hand left her cheek. She knew he was right about this — she didn't even know what exactly they could do together if he stayed, and as heedless as they both were becoming she could hurt him again, even worse. Still, though, she felt as if he was tearing a piece of her away when he opened the door.

"Oh," she breathed in surprise.

The rush of cold air came in, bringing with it a flurry of snowflakes. She hadn't realized it but the sleet had changed to snow, blanketing the porch and the woods beyond in a thick carpet of white.

"It's...it's so lovely," she said.

"Yeah," he agreed, but his eyes were on her and not the snow. Finally he turned away, walking with a heavy tread down the porch steps, leaving his large bootprints in the snow. At the bottom of the steps he turned to look at her one more time, his golden gaze searing through her, his newly-shorn hair already dusted with snowflakes.

"G'night," he rumbled.

"G'night," she echoed. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering, but nevertheless stayed in the open doorway, watching him until he disappeared into the darkness of the woods.

* * *

[Please review! :-D]


	14. The Conversation

He didn't come the next day.

She tried to go about her normal routine, tried not to be just waiting for him like a teenager with a crush. Still, she started to worry.

The storm had alternated between sleet and snow all night, and the temperature had dropped even further towards morning. It was well below freezing even now.

By late afternoon she had wrapped up the sandwich she had made for him, putting it in the fridge for later. By dusk she got bundled up in her winter coat — putting gloves on for the first time since she had arrived — and walked around the silent, snowy clearing, looking for any sign of him.

She tried to tell herself that she was being ridiculous. He wasn't obligated to stop by every day. Maybe something had come up that needed his attention elsewhere. Maybe a repair or something wherever he lived.  _Or maybe he just changed his mind_ , a secret fear in the back of her mind whispered.  _Maybe he decided he didn't want to touch you anymore_.

She stared out at the unbroken snow, arguing with herself.

_Maybe he decided to come for dinner instead._   
_But he would have told me, he would know that I would worry._

_Maybe he's hurt out there, in the snow._   
_But he heals._

_You're being ridiculous, he has his own life to worry about, he doesn't need to see you every day._   
_But he said he would come. He always means what he says._

_Maybe you'll never see him again. Never know what happened._

As evening wore on with no sign of him, that last thought was the one that occurred most frequently, and made her sleep fitful and restless.

* * *

He didn't come the next day either. By early afternoon the worry was a gnawing ache in her belly, growing more intense every minute. She startled at every sound, opening the door to look out several times every hour.

The scenarios in her head got more and more detailed. She imagined him out there bleeding in the snow, victim of another mountain lion attack. She imagined him miles away, casually downing beers in a bar, having decided that someone untouchable just wasn't worth the effort.

By evening she had made up her mind. At first light, she would go looking for him. She would call on the Logan in her head to find out where he lived, and she would get an answer, even if it was one she didn't want to hear. She was the Rogue, she wasn't going to sit idly by in this now-claustrophobic cabin and simply wonder.

* * *

_The snow was past his knees, hampering his movements and making every few yards seem like a mile. He shivered again as the chill seemed to seep out from inside his very bones, the metal in his body making warmth seem like a distant memory. He followed the animal tracks, looking for their burrow. If only he could scamper across the crust of snow like the snowshoe hares he was tracking, instead of suffering the crushing weight of this damned metal skeleton._

_The next step had him suddenly sinking past his waist. Damn it, the ruffled wind-swept snow had hidden a depression in the ground. He rarely ranged out this far, and didn't know the terrain as well as he should. He should be careful..._

_Just as he thought it, he heard an ominous cracking underneath his feet. He made a desperate lunge, but to no avail. He was plunging down, down, into the freezing water. He pushed against the bottom, trying frantically to boost his heavy body up to the surface. His head clunked hard against the sheet of ice. He had drifted from where he fell through. He snapped the claws, trying to dig them into the ice to stop himself from sinking again, but they slid free and he felt himself sinking downward again._

_He could no longer hold his breath. He felt the cold water rush into his lungs, choking him, and he struggled frantically, uselessly, his body jerking back and forth in the water. And then a few moments later he was no longer cold. He suddenly felt comfortable and warm. He stopped struggling, and let himself settle back to the bottom. If this is dying it ain't so bad, he thought, and then the blackness took him._

* * *

Marie shot awake with a gasp. Her whole body was shaking. Was that a nightmare, or one of his memories? Had that actually _happened_  to him? How could he possibly have survived it?

She stumbled into the bathroom, running the shower until it was almost scalding. She closed her eyes, her gnawing worry for Logan now an ungovernable flood of panic. The slow trickle of her tears mixed with the hot spray of water. She thought of Logan slowly dying in that freezing water, and felt like she would never be warm again.

* * *

Marie dressed for the cold, in warm layers topped with the snowmobile suit Xavier had insisted she buy, packing her backpack with some food and water just in case. When she was ready to go she sat on the couch, gloves in her hand, and closed her eyes.

She concentrated, delving into her mind, imagining the long hallway she had constructed with Xavier's help. The structure she had created in her head had two wings — one for humans, who were pretty innocuous for the most part, and another for mutants. The mutants were different in so many respects — more trouble, especially Magneto, but also more useful now that she could call on their powers selectively.

She moved down the hallway, pausing briefly outside each door, monitoring the presence within. Magneto, zealous and power-hungry as always — constantly scheming, assessing his chances of escape and plotting domination. Bobby, quiet and somewhat sheepish as usual. Jubilee, content to spectate and wise-crack from time to time. Jean, a calm and remarkably powerful presence despite the brevity of their touch. And then finally...

She had promised Logan that she wouldn't pry into his memories, and she hadn't done so. Even now, standing outside his room and sensing the restless prowling within, she felt a twinge of misgiving. Then she thought of what she had dreamed last night, and the panic started to well up within her again. Even if he were angry with her — even if he couldn't forgive her for this intrusion on his privacy, she had to know.

She placed her hand on the door and pushed. To her startlement, the door didn't move at all. She concentrated, pushing harder. The barrier remained unmoving, steady as a rock. Marie stopped, flummoxed. This had never happened before. The personalities in her head had always been quiet like Bobby and Jean, or eager to escape like Magneto. What was going on here? Was Logan... _could_ Logan...be denying her access from the inside?

The more she thought about it, the more she realized it was probably true. She hadn't known it was possible, but then again she had never absorbed someone like Logan. As guarded and wary as the man himself was, it made sense that he would be equally so in her head. And what they had done to him — messing with his mind as they had. Maybe he had developed strategies for dealing with that, mental barriers akin to hers.

She leaned back against the door, nonplussed. And then she sensed the change in him — his restless prowling halting for a moment before he moved closer to the door. An idea began to form. She didn't know exactly how to go about this, but maybe...

_Logan?_

She couldn't explain quite what she was doing — not so much speaking, but  _thinking_  the words to him, much like she communicated telepathically with Professor Xavier.

He didn't respond, but yet she somehow felt him, ranging closer to the door, his curiosity coming to the forefront.

_Logan...do you understand what's going on? I'm worried about you. I mean, not you, but him. The Logan that's out there._

Nothing from him but a mild sense of injured pride and the unspoken assertion that he could handle just about anything.

 _Great,_  she thought.  _Can you put the alpha male macho bullshit on hold for just a minute?_

An instinctive growl from him, changing to a reluctantly amused chuckle.  _You're sassier in here,_  he thought at her.

She sighed, relieved that he was talking.  _Why won't you let me in?_ she asked.

His amusement vanished as a torrent of turbulent emotions rushed over her — fear, shame, self-loathing, and underneath it all a deep sense of protectiveness toward her.

 _Okay, okay,_ she thought.  _Settle down._  She got the point. He was trying to protect her from something, something he felt he had to hide. So where did that leave her?

She pressed her forehead against the door. If she could sense his thoughts and emotions, could he sense hers?

She thought of the dream she had, trying to send the images to him.  _Was that just a dream? Or did that really happen to you?_

She felt him shifting restlessly.  _Last winter,_  he grudgingly acknowledged.

She had known it on some level, it had  _felt_  like a memory, but still the shock of his confirmation shivered through her.  _How..._ she thought.  _How did you survive?_

She felt his reluctance for a moment as he struggled to decide, and then he sent the memory to her.

_His eyes opening to dark water, his body tangled in weeds. His desperate struggle to the shore, lungs still choked with now-warm water. Lying on the rocky ground, gasping and vomiting the murky fluid. Then finally raising his head to realize that the world had changed, the dead of winter transformed to late spring while he had remained, frozen under the ice until the thaw..._

He must have sensed her horror. Regret rolled through their connection, from him to her.  _Nothin' can kill me,_  he tried to reassure her. _Nothin'._

She tried to get herself under control, but she was sure he was able to sense her rising panic.

 _You said you'd come. It's been two days._ All the scenarios she had feared flashed through her mind, even — to her embarrassment — the fear that he simply didn't want to see her again.  _Would you...would you do that?_

She felt his increased restlessness behind the barrier.  _No,_ he finally admitted, his certainty unshakable.  _I'd never leave you like that. Not on purpose._

Her stomach lurched.  _Please_. She didn't even know what she was asking him for —  _begging_  him for — but she was asking it all the same.  _Please, help him. Help_ _me_.

She felt his concern - not for himself but for her - and then finally his grudging decision.

 _Okay, darlin'_ , he thought to her.  _Go._

* * *

Marie opened her eyes with a gasp, disoriented. She hadn't felt it until now but she was sweating, smothered underneath the layers of clothing in the warm cabin.

She had no idea how he had done it, but she had a new memory in her head. The route from the cabin to his trailer, as clear and strong in her mind as if  _she_  had made that journey every day for months instead of him.

She heard the faint echo of his voice in her head.  _Go._

She grabbed her gloves and her pack, stumbling out the door and down the porch steps at a near-run.


	15. The Snow

She approached the trailer cautiously. Snow had started to fall again, in thick fat flakes that blurred her vision. The snow around the trailer seemed undisturbed, a pristine carpet of white leading up to the door. Her apprehension increased. Had he not even made it home that night?

The snow wasn't deep — only a few inches, but the base of sleet and snow, now frozen solid, made for slippery going. She braced her feet, tugging, cracking the crust of ice from around the door.

"Logan?" She swung the door open and looked into the dim space, waiting for her eyes to adjust. She slowly began to make out her surroundings — a stripped-out camper shell, discolored spots on the walls where the appliances and cabinets used to be. A makeshift bookshelf stood against one narrow wall, packed tightly with dogeared paperbacks and ragged hardcovers. A tangled mass of blankets lay in the far corner.

The electric lantern was on the floor beside the door, and she picked it up and switched it on. The cold white light flooded the trailer, and her heart stopped for a moment.

"Logan!" She stumbled forward, to where one thick arm protruded from the tangle of blankets.

She pulled the top layers of blankets aside.

He was completely still, his lips and fingers blue. She could see her own breath, frosty in the air, but not the slightest sign of his.

She heard a broken sob escape her own lips as she slipped a gloved hand under his head, lifting it. His hair crackled, as if it were covered with a thin sheen of ice.

"Logan..." She stared down at him helplessly, her mind numb with jumbled regrets. She shouldn't have let him go, she should have realized something was wrong sooner, if she had come the next day, maybe...

He twitched and she screamed, instinctively dropping his head.

He stirred, opening bleary eyes to look at her. "M'ree?"

"Logan!" She tugged on his shoulders, trying to pull him upright. "Sit up, sit up, you're frozen, I thought you were dead,  _oh my god_ , I thought you were  _dead_ , get  _up_..." He rumbled something indistinct, turning over on his side away from her.

She halted her babbling, stunned.

"Jesus Christ, Logan. Get  _UP!_ "

He rubbed a flannel-covered forearm over his face. "M'ree?" he said again, a little more clearly.

"Yes, it's me, Logan...get up,  _please_ , get up..."

He seemed to get the picture finally, rolling to his side and then struggling up to his elbows. She tugged anywhere she could catch a handhold until finally he was sitting up, his legs splayed out awkwardly in front of him. She realized he was still wearing the clothes he had worn that night and they were soaking wet, stiff with ice where they weren't directly touching his body. His boots were caked with mud.

His usually keen gaze was cloudy and disoriented. He blinked owlishly at her. "M'ree...somethin' wrong?"

She felt torn between laughter and tears. "Yeah...Logan, get up. Stand up. We gotta go. You gotta come with me. Right now."

She rubbed his arms in brisk strokes, trying to warm him. She looked around and found some clean clothes, gathering up a few shirts and jeans and socks. She thought about trying to change him out of the sodden clothes then and there, but finally just shoved the changes of clothing into her pack. She had to get him warm, and for that she had to get him to the cabin.

"C'mon Logan...time to go. C'mon, sugar." She finally got him to his feet, trying to keep a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His legs didn't seem to be working quite right, his movements uncoordinated and wobbly. She shoved her shoulder under his arm, trying to steady his considerable weight as best as she could.

"This way...c'mon sugar..."

Together they stumbled almost blindly through the snow. She thought once he was up and moving he might wake up a bit, seem a little more aware, but he staggered along as if in a daze, stopping from time to time to look at her with an expression of mild bewilderment until she was able to push and prod him into motion again.

The trip out to his trailer had taken her under an hour, and yet two hours later they were still slogging through the snow, covering less ground every minute. Logan had taken to stumbling more and more, his heavy weight yawing wildly, making them both fall often times.

Finally he fell and stayed down, his hands and knees buried in thick snow, his head hanging.

"Logan...get up, get up..." The words were second nature now, hardly distinguishable from her frozen lips.

He shook his head, letting his knees slip from under him, nestling into the snow as if it were the warmest of blankets. "M'okay," he mumbled. "Don' worry."

She was crying in earnest now. "Logan...get up!" She pulled at him, succeeding only in getting him onto his back. His face seemed relaxed in unconsciousness, his dogtags glimmering in the hollow of his throat.

"Logan..." She shook him, and he mumbled. She took a deep breath. "Soldier!" she barked. "On your feet, man! We're moving out!"

He opened his eyes, and she watched in relief as he started scrabbling, pushing to his knees.

"Move it soldier...hup to...moving out..."

She alternately yelled, cursed, and barked orders to him, calling on Magneto's powers as much as she dared to bolster his uncertain balance, and in that manner got him within sight of the cabin. Within a few yards of the porch he fell again and she used Bobby's power to form a slick of ice, trudging along beside it, dragging him the last few yards until they reached the porch steps.

The distance from the bottom of the porch steps to the front door seemed insurmountable, but with a combination of ordering and begging she was able to get him up one more time. She used a last burst of Magneto's powers to open the door ahead of them and practically fling them both the final few feet, crashing them through the doorway and into the foyer, giving him an extra shove so that he crumpled onto the rug in front of the fireplace while she crashed to her knees in the entryway.

She kneeled on the wooden floor of the foyer, frozen and dripping for a moment, half in disbelief that they had made it.

For a moment her mind was paralyzed with indecision — she had focused so much on getting them there, she didn't know exactly what to do next. Then she snapped into action, shoving the front door closed, ripping the thick winter gloves off her numb fingers and replacing them with a set of cotton ones. She felt like she was wasting precious seconds, but she didn't want to risk sapping any of his depleted strength with an accidental touch.

She snagged the cognac bottle from two nights before and fell to her knees before the fireplace where Logan lay. She took another precious few minutes to light the fire, pouring a healthy dose of cognac on it to speed things along. Then she pushed and pulled, rolling his shoulders up and wedging her body under his upper back to keep him semi-upright.

"Logan!" She slapped him as hard as she could. "Logan!" He opened bleary eyes at her again.

"M'ree?" he said, his voice befuddled.

"Drink," she ordered succintly, shoving the bottle in his mouth, not giving him time to refuse. She let a trickle drip in, and then more as he started swallowing, stopping after he had taken a few good gulps.

He pushed himself a little more upright. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes seeming a little clearer. "Marie?"

She almost sobbed in relief. "Yeah, it's me. Listen, sugar, we gotta get you out of these wet clothes. Help me out here, okay?"

He watched, a puzzled furrow between his brows, as she undid the buttons on his shirt. "Arms up," she ordered, and he complied obediently. She pulled off the flannel and the undershirt, giving him another few gulps of the cognac.

She pulled off his boots and socks, thick crusts of ice falling free of them. He started to shake, deep, bone-rattling shudders passing through his body. It pained her to see, but she thought it was a good sign, his body finally fighting back against the cold.

She was sweating furiously, the heat of the fire blazing on her face, her body suffocating in the snowmobile suit. She ran upstairs, grabbing the fluffy duvet off the bed along with any extra blankets she could find in the closet, hauling the awkward armful down the stairs with a trail of blankets dragging behind her.

He had rolled onto his side, his arms wrapped around himself, his breath rasping in his chest. She blushed furiously but she undid his belt buckle and fly, tugging the jeans off his hips and peeling them down his long legs, pulling furiously at the sodden fabric as it clung stubbornly to his muscular thighs.

She finally got them free and cast them aside, covering him with one blanket, and then the duvet, and then the other blankets, forming a cocoon around his body. He was still shuddering helplessly and she rubbed the blankets over his body, trying to increase the circulation of his blood.

She was trying desperately to remember anything else she had learned in her field medic training about hypothermia. There was something about not warming someone too quickly or the frostbite would get worse, but was that even an issue for him? If his toes fell off, wouldn't they just...grow back or something? She shuddered.

She realized the fire might be warming him from the outside but she was relying on his body heat to create warmth under the blanket, and right now she wasn't even sure if he had any. She plonked herself down on the floor, pulling at her boots, cursing at the tangled laces until she got them free. She peeled off her snowmobile suit and outer layers of clothing down to her silk thermals and socks, and then slid under the duvet, carefully keeping a layer of blanket between her face and his naked back.

She pressed her body up against him, tucking her socked feet around his. Even through the layer of blanket she could feel the chill immediately — he felt like a solid block of ice. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling the shudders rattling through him, shaking them both.

She ran a gloved hand through his hair. "Easy, sugar. It'll be okay. You'll be okay soon."

She pressed her cheek to his back, willing the shudders to stop, willing his body to warm. Even though she felt more confident now that he would survive this, the pain must be unimaginable. And she knew all too well from his memories that a healing factor doesn't prevent the pain — he would be feeling every moment of it.

It felt to her like hours, but it had probably only been twenty minutes or so by the time the shudders subsided, changing to the occasional shiver. She continued to hold him, hushing and soothing him, until his breathing grew deep and even. His back under her cheek wasn't warm yet, but it was only slightly chilled.

She felt some of the tension in her body finally relax now that he was peacefully sleeping. She felt sore all over, just now beginning to feel her aching knees, the strained muscles in her back, even the pain in her jaw from clenching her teeth to stop them from chattering.

She started to slip out from under the duvet. He made a low grumbling noise, turning toward her, one long arm snaking under the blanket to tug her closely into his body. She froze, stunned for a moment, and he settled back down with a satisfied sigh, pulling her with him until she was sprawled on top of his body.

She waited until his breathing evened out again and then started to slide back once again, carefully pushing back against his blanket-covered chest.

"Don' go," he slurred, his arm tightening around her, and she landed back on his chest with a huff of surprise. "Stay w'me."

She thought about arguing — she could tell he wasn't even fully awake — but...damn, it felt good right where she was. His body under the blanket was starting to become warm, and she seemed to fit naturally here, every curve of her body nestling perfectly against his long frame. She rested her head down on his chest for a moment and he made another satisfied sound, his hand brushing warmly up and down her back, soothing her strained muscles.

The blanket still covered his chest, protecting him from her exposed skin. Maybe she could just rest here a minute. She had been so scared, and now things were going to be okay. She let herself relax into his body, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat, feeling his chest rise and fall with every deep breath.

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	16. The Agreement

Logan clung desperately to sleep. He often dreamed about Marie, but never had it been so vivid. He could practically smell her luscious, enticing scent mixed with his, feel the soft curves of her body pressed against his own. He felt himself drifting inexorably toward consciousness and growled in annoyance. He wanted to stay right here...

He was almost fully awake now, and yet the soft Marie-scent was stronger than ever, the warm Marie-feel still snuggled up against him. He slowly opened his eyes, and his breath caught in his chest. Marie was lying right on top of him, her head resting on his chest, her legs tangled with his. He blinked, thinking for a moment that he must be hallucinating, but she was as real as could be — her heart thumping softly in rhythm with his, her breath tickling his neck.

He realized now that they were in her cabin, on the floor in front of the fireplace where they had eaten dinner just last night. Or was it last night? He searched his memory. He had left her that night, he was certain of it. He remembered trudging home, the snow turning to sleet, soaking him to the skin. And then...

What came next was a confused jumble of images, disjointed and dream-like. Marie's worried face, her breath frosty in the air. Falling in the snow. And then the strangest impression of himself as an Allied soldier, marching with the Fifth Army forward against the Bernhardt Line after a week of blizzards and zero visibility.

His head spun for a moment as a vivid image of the Apennine Mountains surfaced, dispersing into a gossamer mist as he tried to concentrate on it. What the hell — how did he even know that the Apennine mountains were in Italy? As far as he knew he'd never been farther than the 200 miles or so he had traveled from north of Ottawa, where he had broken out of the lab, to the Adirondacks. Not to mention —  _World War II?_  That was seventy years ago. He dismissed the disturbing thought. He must have seen some documentary about it in one of the motels he had holed up in on the fight circuit, and worked it into his dream.

He closed his eyes, trying to puzzle things out. Had he sleepwalked here? His nightmares were bad, but he'd never done anything like that. Not to mention you'd think that would have had Marie screaming, instead of cuddling up with him in front of the fireplace. He shifted slightly, realizing that he was naked under the thin blanket that covered his waist and legs. At the same time he realized that Marie's face — her bare skin — was nestled warmly against his bare chest, with absolutely no problems at all.

His body, already aroused by the feel and smell of Marie, hardened painfully further. He bit back a groan, trying not to wake her and trying not to disgrace himself. He let his arms come up to encircle her, another jolt of lust sizzling through him at the feel of her warm curves under whatever silky skintight garment she was wearing. He braced her up against him and then rolled, shifting her until she was beside him, relief warring with bitter disappointment as he lost the pressure of her soft curves against his hardened flesh.

He pulled back until he could see her clearly. She was dressed in some kind of silk thermal underwear, the thin layer clinging teasingly to every inch of her skin. A thick duvet lay bunched to the side, as if they had pulled it off of themselves during the night. Or day? From the angle of the sun through the windows it looked to be late afternoon. He pulled the corner of it over, easing his arm out from under her until her cheek rested on the blanket.

Unable to help himself he reached out, brushing his fingertips along her cheek, feeling the satiny skin. She was as beautiful in sleep as she was awake, her dark lashes thick against her creamy skin, her full lower lip pouting slightly in relaxation. Her skin wasn't active while she slept, he realized. He didn't think she knew that about her mutation, but in retrospect it made sense if her mutation was defensive.

He rested his head on his arm, gazing at her from inches away. She slept deeply, trustingly, so near to him. For a moment he let go of all his confusion and allowed himself to just enjoy this — breathing in her delicious scent, listening to the steady thump of her heart, watching her breasts rise and fall with every deep breath.

He felt his chest swell with an unfamiliar mix of emotions — lust and tenderness, possessiveness and longing. He wanted to crush her to him and devour her, and he wanted to cradle her gently, protecting her from the world. Instead, he just watched her, luxuriating in her nearness.

He knew the moment she started to wake — her temperature rising a scant degree or two, her breath quickening slightly. Her eyelashes fluttered as she sighed out a deep, soft, breath, and then her eyes snapped open.

"Logan!"

Before he knew it she was practically attacking him — yanking his arm from under his head to examine his fingers with her gloved hands, and then scrambling down to pull the blanket off his feet, her fingers tickling his toes and making him squirm.

He dazedly admired the stunning view of her delectable bottom, wondering what the hell she was up to.

"Marie?"

She turned back around, hovering over him on her hands and knees, searching his face. "You're okay! Are ya okay?" she asked frantically.

He propped himself up on his elbows. "'Course." He looked at her worried face, puzzled. "Are  _you?_ "

She rocked back on her heels. "Am  _I_ okay?" she breathed. "You...you..." Her eyes blazed. "You  _idiot!_ " Her hand flew out, thumping him hard on the shoulder and, unprepared, he landed flat on his back. He grunted. She was strong for such a little thing.

"What's up with you?" he grumbled.

In a flash she was straddling him, practically incandescent with rage. "What's up with me? With  _me!?_  You...you were  _dead!_  You were a fuckin' Wolverine  _popsicle!_ What in the  _hell_  were you thinkin', damn you?!"

Her voice was thick with angry tears, her molasses-drawl more pronounced than he had ever heard it before, and he was having trouble focusing on her words and not how goddamned sexy she was when she was angry.

He rubbed a hand over his face. "Whaddaya mean?"

He saw some of her anger fade. "You really have no idea, do you?" she asked more quietly.

He shook his head.

"Logan, you went back to your place in the sleet and the cold and you just...lay down and died. Or near to it. If I hadn'ta found ya..."

He felt a slow, disquieting suspicion rising up from the back of his mind. "You came to get me?"

She nodded, subdued now. "I thought you were dead for real at first. All blue, and barely breathin'..."

He pushed himself back up on his elbows. "How did you find me?" He didn't like the idea of this. He didn't like the idea of this at all.

"The you in my head." Her eyes flared briefly with irritation again. "He's as much of a stubborn jackass as you are, but he finally gave me the route to your trailer."

"And you went out in that? Marie, you shouldnta risked yourself like that. I woulda been okay."

Her breathing quickened again, her thighs tightening against his hips.  _Uh oh, he was in for it._  Sure enough, her hand lashed out again, shoving him very ungently backwards. "You  _ass!_  How dare ya tell me that I shouldn'ta come? I suppose I shoulda just sat here twiddlin' my thumbs for two more days, or two more weeks, or until  _whenever_  the hell the next thaw came around, worryin' and worryin' myself sick about ya..."

Something in his chest tightened. Her scent was thick with remembered fear and anxiety, her pulse racing even thinking back at it.

"You were...worried about me?" he repeated.

She looked at him, her eyes wide in disbelief, tears trembling on her lower lashes. "Of  _course_  I was worried about you! Worried enough to bully and drag your sorry ass through the snow for two hours, you thick-headed, numbskulled..."

That was as far as she got before he pulled her down on top of him, stopping her words with his mouth, devouring her gasp of surprise. His tongue invaded her mouth, seeking out the sweet taste of her, exploring gently for long moments until he felt the buzz start and they both pulled away, breathing hard.

Her hands were braced against his chest, her eyes wide with wonder, searching his.

"No one's ever worried 'bout me before," he mumbled sheepishly in explanation.

Her eyes blurred with tears again for a moment as her hand brushed tenderly over his face.

"Oh, Logan," she said, half on a sob. "What am I gonna do with ya, sugar?"

 _Sugar_. Fuck, but he liked that. It did something to him, kindling a fire at the base of his belly, turning his voice into a breathy growl.

"Whatever you want to, darlin'. I'm yours."

Her eyes widened again briefly and then left his, traveling slowly down to his mouth. The gloved hand she had rested on his cheek traveled down as well, the thumb brushing his lower lip. He nipped at the pad of her thumb and she made a low noise, her hips rocking unconsciously against his.

That was all it took, and suddenly need overwhelmed them both. One of his hands was still tangled in the thick fall of her hair. The other skimmed down her side to settle at her hip, pushing her into his body as he drew her head back down to his.

He reined himself in with an effort, trying to keep the kiss gentle, struggling to keep the movement of his hands over her body slow and unhurried. The silk was barely a barrier at all, he could feel every inch of her warm skin through the sheer fabric. She growled a little in frustration, pressing herself fully against the rigid length of him, encouraging him shamelessly. He kissed down her neck, hiding his smile. She was a fierce little thing.

The buzz was taking longer and longer to kick in. He wondered absently if it was her becoming less cautious around him, or if something about his mutation was counteracting hers. Either way he thanked his lucky stars for it. It might take some practice to get things right, but for now for all the big deal she had made of her skin it was almost no impediment at all. And he was a creative guy, he realized. Even these barely-there silks...

He knew he couldn't have her fully, not yet. But right now the urge to possess her somehow — to put his mark on her, to show her she was his — was uncontrollable.  _She worried about me_ , he thought, the very idea unleashing something inside him — something hot and dark and needy.  _She came to find me._ _She wants me._

He tumbled them over, kicking the blanket away from between them and nestling more firmly between her legs.

"Jesus, Marie...ah, Christ..." He closed his eyes in ecstasy. The new position allowed him to press even closer against her as he set a deeper, stronger rhythm. She was making soft little noises of entreaty, urging him on, her gloved hands clutching the flexing muscles of his back to pull him even closer.

He was panting hard, wanting to lick and nip and taste her everywhere — nibbling on her ear, lapping at the fading mark he had left on her neck earlier.

"This...ah, fuck...this okay, darlin'?" he forced himself to ask through gritted teeth, unable to stop moving for even a second. Christ, he didn't know what he would do if she said no. He was half-mad with wanting, pressed so closely against her that he would be inside her if it wasn't for the silk.

"Yes...don't stop, please don't stop..."

He didn't think it was possible but those words spiked his lust even higher. Her gloved hands brushed up and down his back, trickling pleasure down his spine.

"Fuck, Marie..." He slid an arm underneath her back, arching her up towards him until he could suckle her breast, making her whimper with pleasure. "You feel so good...smell so good..." He realized he was talking more than he had in years, but he couldn't stop the words any more than he could stop the constant rough growls she pulled from him with every press of her body into his.

She was pushing up greedily now, her hips moving in strong counterpoint to his as she ground against him with abandon. She wrapped one long leg around his waist and they both cried out as it brought them even closer. He licked and sucked at her through the damp silk, savoring every urgent little moan and shiver he was able to elicit.

"That's it baby...just like that...so good. Oh, fuck..."

She was crying out every time he pushed against her now, her breath huffing in agitation, her body straining towards his.

"Logan, I can't...I need..."

He growled, deep and low. "I know, baby. I know." He suckled at her neck fiercely, as if trying to take the taste and scent of her into his own body. "C'mon, darlin'. Show me. Let yourself come."

He didn't know how but he knew just what to do. His hand slid between their straining bodies, finding just the right spot, pressing slow and sweet until she came apart underneath him. He watched, pride and possessiveness overwhelming him as she flushed, her breath drawing in on a surprised gasp as she shuddered and bucked against him.

 _Damn right_ , he thought.  _My Marie. Gonna make you come like this every day. Just for me. All for me._  His mind was hazed with pleasure and need, more feral than not, as he buried his face in her neck. He had never felt anything so good in his life, never even imagined anything could feel as good as Marie coming hard underneath his body, gasping his name.  _Sweet Marie, soft Marie, my Marie..._  He thrust hard against her in rough movements until the pleasure steamrolled through him, almost unbearably intense.

He growled into her damp skin, spilling against her soft body in deep, shivering pulses, feeling her still shuddering against him. White hazed his vision as the pleasure cascaded through him for endless moments. Finally it subsided, satisfaction weighting his limbs as he barely stopped himself from collapsing on her. He rolled them quickly, still pushing shallowly against her as aftershocks of pleasure shook them both.

He felt her silky hair skim across his chest, screening her bare face and neck from his skin as she settled her boneless weight onto him. For a moment they both lay stunned and breathless.

Finally he heard Marie's voice, slurred and lazy, her accent honey-thick. "Holy. Fuckin'. Wow."

He rumbled his agreement, gently brushing a few tendrils of hair off her damp cheek.

He let his mind drift. He had never felt so good — warm and satisfied, every bone and muscle in his body liquid with pleasure. And Marie felt the same, he could smell in her scent the echo of all he was feeling — gratitude and tenderness and joy and satisfaction.

Finally she stirred against him. "I should get ya somethin' to eat. Ya must be starvin'."

His arms tightened around her. "Not really. I like you here."

She laughed softly. "I like it here too. But Logan...it's been three days since you were here for dinner. Did ya eat anythin' at all?"

He frowned. Three days? How could that be? He clearly remembered walking home that night, and then waking up here. He started to realize what she meant by saying he had been almost dead. He thought about being under the ice, for months. He hadn't sensed time passing then either.

"I guess my metabolism slows down or somethin' when I get that cold. I feel like it was yesterday that I was here. I'm not even hungry. I guess my mutation maybe...sends me into hibernation or somethin'."

She raised her head, her dark deep eyes gazing into his. "But Logan...why did you let it get that bad? Did ya not have the money for a generator or somethin'?"

He growled, his pride stung. "I got a lot of money, Marie. More'n I can spend, at least. I just..." He sighed, avoiding her eyes. "I had planned to go south for the winter, catch the fight circuit down in Mexico, and then...and then I met you. And then I thought I could get a heater or somethin' but I just didn't expect the cold to come on so fast. It'd take a few days to go to town and get supplies for the winter, and I just...I just kept putting off leavin' you."

"Aw, sugar..." Her voice was thick with tears again.

"Don't, darlin'." He tried for a joke. "Don't get all teary just because I'm a...what did you call me?...thick-headed, numbskulled..."

"Hey," she interrupted teasingly. "You're _my_  thick-headed, numbskulled jackass, right?"

His humor fled. He was dead serious now. "Yeah," he rasped. "If for some reason you want me, Marie...I'm yours."

She was serious too, her voice quiet as she nuzzled into his chest through the screen of her hair. "I want you, Logan." God, that did something good to him. Made him feel ten feet tall, and able to conquer the world.

He felt her arms tighten around him, bracing herself for an argument. "An' if you didn't wanna leave me before, that means that you're okay with stayin' here with me, right? Stayin' here at the cabin with me for the winter?"

He felt like he should argue, but damned if he could find the will to do so. There was nothing more he wanted on God's green earth than to stay right here with her for as long as she would have him.

"Guess so," he said.

She sighed in relief, and settled herself back down on his chest. He listened to her soft breathing, his heart filled to bursting with unaccustomed happiness.

_My Marie. For as long as you'll have me._

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	17. The Touch

Marie looked down at her nearly-full bowl of stew. She could feel her cheeks starting to heat with a blush. Could she blame it on the fire?

All day long, things had just been so...easy. When they finally managed to get up, they had taken turns showering, and made a late lunch of pancakes together. Then she had painted for awhile, while Logan read one of the books from the cabin's library. Later she worked out while he found some more wood to chop.

The unseasonable cold snap had finally broken and the world was bright and white, the snow turning to slush as the temperature turned milder. He took his shirt off halfway through chopping, and she was hard-pressed to concentrate on her workout and not sneaking peeks out the window.

He even helped her cook dinner, chopping vegetables according to her instructions. When he wasn't throwing extra meat into the stew at every opportunity, he was sneaking little kisses and touches from her, making her giggle and squirm.

He had already become so much a part of her daily routine, for the most part it was surprisingly seamless how he transitioned from Guy-Who-Popped-Out-of-the-Woods-at-Random-Intervals to Sudden-New-Roomie.

But then evening fell, and he got less playful and more quiet. And now he had finished eating and was sitting on the other end of the couch, just watching her intently, and she wasn't quite sure what to do with that. Her appetite was nonexistent, and her mouth was dry. She took a big gulp of water and then put the glass down. She saw his intent gaze shift to her lips. She put the bowl down on the table, taking a deep breath.

"I'm nervous," she finally told him flat out.

His golden gaze shifted back to her eyes. "'Bout what?"

She felt the blush creeping up her cheeks. "About everythin'. You. Me. What we did earlier..." She licked her lips nervously, sneaking a glance at him. His eyes were dark and focused on her. "And what we're gonna do next."

He had shaved earlier, and the firelight illuminated his newly-exposed cheekbones harshly, making his gentle voice even more incongruous in contrast.

"What do you want to do, darlin'?"

She looked down at her gloved hands. "That's just it. I don't know. All this time I thought that my skin meant...that I could never do anythin'. Or anythin' much, at least. But it hardly seemed to bother you at all, and I don't know what that means, or what you're gonna expect..."

His big warm hands were suddenly enveloping hers, interrupting her babbling. He stroked her fingers briefly through her silk gloves before clasping her hands in his.

"C'mere," he said, pulling, and she followed until she was in his arms, her head nestled on his chest.

"Breathe," he said.

She took a deep breath, and let it out. And then another. The scent of him surrounded her — woods and tree sap and just Logan — and she felt the tension drain from her body. His hand stroked her hair, slowly and soothingly.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded, feeling foolish.

"We're not gonna do anything you don't want to do," he rumbled. "Even if it's just this. I'm not sayin' that I don't want you. That would be a damn lie. But I want anythin' you can give me. Even if it's just bein' around you. Watchin' you paint, or bein' close to you like this. I don't expect nothin' more than that. Hell, even this is more than I ever dreamed I could have."

She felt tears springing to her eyes, and blinked them away. She wrapped her arms tighter around him, trying to figure out what she wanted to say.

"You asked me if I wanted this — touch. An' I do. I just...there's a lot I haven't done. An' I wanna do it with you, but...I don't think I can jump right in. An' I'm still really scared of hurtin' ya."

She felt his chin move as he nodded. "You can always tell me, Marie. I'm no good at talkin', you gotta tell me stuff. And tell me if I'm pushin' you too far."

She nodded.

They sat in silence for awhile, watching the fire, enjoying the closeness as his hand rubbed gentle circles on her back.

"How 'bout we start here," he eventually said. "Just...practice touchin'. Take off your gloves and touch my hand."

She hesitated. "What if I hurt you?"

"I won't let you. I feel it. Before the pain starts, there's a warning. Like a...buzz. If I feel it I'll pull away."

She leaned back, looking at him in surprise. "Really? I...I didn't know that."

He nodded. "I had to feel it a few times before I figured it out. Maybe no one ever got that far."

She thought of Bobby, and how terrified he had been to touch her after an accident. She had only absorbed him twice before that final time when he was thinking of Kitty, and each time was months apart. She could easily believe that he might have missed something like that.

"I guess so," she said slowly. "So...you'll pull away if you feel it?"

He nodded. "Promise."

He settled her securely in his lap, her back resting up against his chest, his hands relaxed and open in her lap. She took a deep breath and pulled off her glove. She skimmed her fingertips along his palm. It was the first time she had really touched his skin — not just an accidental brush but a real touch. His skin was warm and slightly rough, but with no scars or calluses. His healing factor, she figured.

"Will you tell me — when you feel the buzz? Maybe I can start to feel it too."

He rumbled an affirmative.

It took much longer than she would have guessed. She had almost forgotten to pay attention, entranced as she was by the feel of his warm skin and the elaborate pattern of lines and whorls on his palm and fingers.

"There it is," he said, moving his hand just a breath away from her fingers.

"Oh," she said, her brow furrowing. "It didn't hurt?"

"Nah. Feels kinda good, actually. Kinda like a tickle."

She smiled at the idea. "Can I try again?"

He settled his left arm around her, squeezing her tight before moving his hand back. "You can try all night if you want."

She touched him again, skimming her thumb in a slow circle on his palm, trying to focus on more than just the wonder of feeling his skin. It seemed to take even longer that time. "There," he said, moving his hand right as she said, "That's it, isn't it?"

She looked down at her fingertips in fascination. "I felt it that time."

Even without seeing him, she could hear the smile in his voice. "I'll tell you somethin' else. It's off when you're sleepin'."

Her heart lurched in surprise. She turned around on her knees, searching his face. "Really?  _Off?_ I didn't think it was ever off."

He nodded. "When I woke up you were restin' right on my chest. Not a thing between us." His voice turned gravelly. "Skin to skin."

"Skin to skin," she repeated wonderingly. "Even though I came out here, hopin'..." She felt her throat thicken with tears. "I don't know that I ever really believed before now that it could be off."

He cradled her cheek. "Maybe that's part of it. Believin'."

He kissed her, soft and swift, and then before she could even respond he was turning her back around, settling her back in his lap.

"This time see if you can stop it when it starts."

"But if I can't..."

"I won't let you hurt me," he interrupted, his voice firm. "The buzz lasts for at least a few seconds. I got pretty good at judgin' it." The teasing note in his voice didn't entirely hide the soft growl underneath his words, his body subtly pressing up into hers in emphasis. "Or don't you remember?"

She blushed. So that was how he had managed to kiss her so much while they were...

She had been a little too caught up in things at the time to really consider it. She had just trusted him not to get hurt. She had trusted him then, she realized, and she could trust him now. He wouldn't let her hurt him. Not that he seemed concerned about his own safety, but because he didn't want to shake her confidence.

She took a deep breath, and placed her hand in his. How safe and happy it made her feel, just to feel his palm against hers, to see her small pale hand in his big tan one. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the feeling, until the funny little ghost of sensation started.

_Just...make it stop_ , she thought to herself.  _Just..._

She thought for a moment that she felt it...stutter...but as seconds ticked by she started to get anxious. "Logan..." she said, and he pulled away instantly.

Her pulse was racing. He smoothed his hand down her hair again. "That was good, baby." His voice was quiet and confident. "Try again."

She stared down at his hands for a moment. They were relaxed, open. Logan was so completely unfazed by her mutation. She thought of Bobby, and how freaked out he was when she even came close to slipping. His anxiety had only made her more worried, she realized — it had probably made things a million times worse.

She took a deep breath. She trusted Logan. She had nothing to fear.

She placed her palm flat against his. His fingers interlaced with hers, squeezing gently, reassuringly. After a few moments she felt the buzz start and just as it did, he leaned in and kissed her.

She murmured in surprise against his lips and then she was lost. His tongue gently explored her mouth, coaxing her response from her, setting a flame burning in her belly. He kissed her, deep and soft and sweet, until she felt her head spinning. He finally pulled away, his breath warm against her lips, giving her a final nip on her bottom lip.

"Gotcha," he rumbled. He held up their hands, still interlaced. "Distractin' you works too."

It took her a second to process his words, and then her dazed mind finally comprehended them.

She squeezed his hand in hers. "You...scoundrel," she said without heat, her mouth quirking.

The buzz started, and he released her hand gently. "I've been called a lotta things..." He raised one eyebrow.

She giggled and he pulled her close, kissing the top of her head.

"You better get to bed," he finally said. "I do any more 'distracting' and I'm not gonna be able to let you go."

She bit her lip, considering. "You could...sleep up there if you wanted. Share the bed with me. I mean, if you thought it would be okay."

He made a low, rough noise in the back of his throat, his body reflexively bucking up into her again. "Darlin', if I came up there neither of us would be sleepin'." He kissed her gently. "Besides, it's not safe."

She felt herself flush as she pushed herself to her feet. "Oh. Of course. I'm sorry about earlier, I thought I was covered up enough..."

She didn't even see him move but suddenly she was back in his lap, her knees landing on each side of his hips as his arms tightened around her.

"That's not what I meant, darlin'," he growled. "How many times do I hafta tell you, I'm not scared of you." She felt his fingers flex against her as his words grew halting. "It's...I get these... nightmares. And sometimes the claws come out, whether I want them to or not. I don't want you anywhere near me if somethin' like that happens."

"Oh." She hadn't thought of that at all. Silly of her.

"Can..." she blurted out before she stopped herself abruptly.

She castigated herself mentally. Why didn't she think before she opened her mouth?

"What, baby?" he prompted.

She ducked her head. "Nah, it's stupid of me to ask. Just forget about it." She tried to pull free of his arms, but his grip was immovable.

"Nuh uh. None of that. You gotta tell me things, remember?"

She closed her eyes, angry at herself. "I just...I was gonna ask if I could see 'em, but I forgot for a second — it hurts you, when they come out, and I don't wanna... _oh_."

Just like that he had held out his hand, the claws gliding out to their full length with a metallic hiss. The firelight gleamed and danced on the shiny metal.

" _Oh_ ," she said again, fascinated.

They should be fearsome — after all, she had seen them in action — and yet she could not find even a shred of apprehension within herself. She looked in his eyes. He seemed to be waiting for something, a shadow of uneasiness flickering behind his impassive expression.

Slowly, giving him enough time to pull away if he wanted, she reached out. She touched a finger to the blunt edge of one claw at the very tip, tracing it slowly down to his knuckle where the blade grew thicker. He groaned, and her eyes widened.

"Do...do ya feel that?"

His eyes were closed now, his jaw taut with tension. "Fuck, Marie...do it again."

There was a strange note in his voice - arousal, definitely, but something else. She felt something drift up from the recesses of her mind. Not so much a specific memory, more of a sense of his thoughts and emotions, an echo of feeling from somewhere deep inside her. She heard her own voice, as if in a dream, as she traced her fingers up and down his claws.

"You were ashamed of these, weren't ya? Didn't like what they meant, what they made you. Kept 'em outta sight, wishin' them gone. Feelin' like they made you a freak. But you were wrong, Logan. They're beautiful. So beautiful. They're part of you. Natural."

He was panting now, growling roughly on each exhale. "Marie...Jesus, baby...please..."

She reached for his belt buckle, some distant part of her mind shocked at her boldness. She opened his jeans and he sprang into her silk-gloved hand, hot and hard and ready. She encircled him firmly and he made a choked noise, something between a growl and a whimper.

Her ungloved hand returned to trace up and down his claws, while her gloved hand set a similar pace, stroking his rigid length.

He was growling almost incessantly now, his eyes closing for a few moments in ecstasy and then snapping back open, avidly drinking in the sight of her hands on him. His other hand clenched hard on the back of the leather sofa, knuckles white with strain.

She could tell he was trying to restrain himself, but still his hips pushed up into her hand, seekingly. She quickened her pace, watching him. The flickering firelight lit the rugged angles of his face, his amber eyes glowing as he watched her. There was something in his expression — a vulnerability she had never seen before.

"You're beautiful," she breathed again. "Every part of ya." Without thought she leaned in closer, her tongue flicking out to where the claws emerged from the skin, lapping gently.

"Arrghhh...fuck...Marie...I can't..." He threw his head back, tendons standing out in his neck. His hips bucked uncontrollably into her hand and then he was coming hard with a soft roar, his body twisting and writhing underneath her thighs as her hand worked him gently. He shuddered and gasped, the claws of his other hand springing free reflexively.

She watched him, fascinated and a little proud. She had done this to him — made this strong, stoic man lose control, made him groan and quake. Her touch did this to him. Finally he subsided, panting hard, his golden gaze sleepy and satiated.

She smiled and snuggled up into him, giving him a final loving stroke that made him shiver.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Marie," he finally said, his voice hoarse. "You tryin' to kill me?"

She laughed into his shirt, nuzzling up into him.

He retracted the claws slowly, wrapping his arms tight around her, rocking her side to side. "Marie...I..." He seemed to get stuck for the words. She felt him take in a deep breath and then let it out. "Thank you, darlin'" he finally said.

She hid her face, suddenly bashful now that the heat of the moment had passed. "I liked it," she offered shyly.

His hand traced a slow circle on her belly.

"Do you want me to...?" he rumbled, tracing his hand a little lower.

She shook her head. "Is that okay? I just wanna stay like this for a little while."

His hand moved back up, gently stroking her waist. "Whatever you want, darlin'."

She pulled off her sticky glove, blushing a little, and he undid a few buttons of his flannel shirt, pulling it over his head and helping her clean up a little. He pulled his belt free, dropping it on the floor, and buttoned his jeans back up. She snuggled back against his chest, her cheek against his sleeveless undershirt while his warm bare arms encircled her.

She relaxed into him, letting her mind drift. It had been such a new experience for her — taking the lead like she had. She had always been scared to do that with Bobby, not wanting to presume. And the way Logan just talked to her, directly — telling her how he felt, asking her what she wanted. There was no hinting with him, no game playing. Just...honesty. She liked that a lot. She liked  _him_  a lot.

She felt warm and safe and happy. She listened to the steady thump of his heart, lulled by the rise and fall of his steady breathing. Then suddenly she was floating. She opened her eyes reluctantly. He was carrying her up the stairs.

She must have made some noise. He looked down at her, his face soft with an expression she had never seen before. He kissed her on the forehead. "Hush, darlin'. Go back to sleep."

She closed her eyes again, letting herself linger on the edge of sleep. She felt him setting her down on the bed. His hands were gentle at her waist as he unfastened her jeans. She couldn't even find the energy to be shy as she lifted her hips, helping him pull them free. Then he was covering her with the soft duvet.

"'Night" he rumbled softly.

She snuggled into her pillow. "I wish you could stay," she mumbled plaintively.

He smoothed a hand over her hair and kissed her cheek.

"Me too, darlin'." She waited for his heavy footfalls, but instead the mattress dipped precipitously as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Go to sleep, baby," he said again. She wanted to stay awake but felt herself drifting away, sliding into sleep as Logan watched over her.

* * *

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	18. The Tradition

"Watcha readin'?"

She thumped his feet and he lifted them distractedly. She sat down on the other side of the couch, pulling his legs back down over her lap. She immediately started to run her hand up and down his calf over his jeans. He wondered if she even knew that she was doing it. She couldn't be near him without touching him somehow. He loved that.

"Book on engines," he said.

"You only read nonfiction, huh?"

He reached the end of the section and rested the book on his chest, considering. "I guess...I feel like I don't know much. I mean, even the stuff I know I don't know I know. Like fixin' engines...I fixed up my bike, but I had no idea what all the parts were called when I was doin' it. Readin' this...now I have the words for it. I guess I feel like I got a lot of catchin' up to do."

Her eyes were understanding, but it still made him feel a little ashamed. She was so smart, and he was starting from scratch.

"Done paintin'?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Yep." She drummed her hands on his legs, looking entirely too innocent. He narrowed his eyes.

She was wearing only one glove. He smothered his smile, his heart picking up speed.  _How in the hell did he ever get so lucky?_

He put the book down on the rug.

"Wanna practice?" he asked.

She smiled, warm and wide. "Sugar...I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

The warmer weather only lasted for a week before the temperature dropped again. Despite Logan's grumbling, Marie had put a warm men's jacket and gloves on her shopping list. She half expected a call on the sat phone shortly afterwards, but either Samuel wasn't reporting her purchases to Xavier, or Charles had decided to leave things well enough alone.

Either way, she was grateful for their discretion. Even though Logan was helping her gain control over her skin in leaps and bounds, she still welcomed the isolation of the cabin. She wasn't ready to share him with the world yet, and she knew he felt the same.

When the snow started to fall again, Logan dragged her away from her painting to walk through the downy flakes. The world was so bright and crisp, the snow falling so fast that when she lifted her face to the sky she felt as if she were inside of a snow-globe, the dense whirl of fluffy snowflakes too pretty to be real.

They had taken several walks like this, and each time she saw the woods anew through Logan's eyes. All the little signs of life she had never noticed before — the animal tracks and markings, little burrows hidden away where she never would have noticed — were suddenly apparent with his sharp predator's eyes seeking them out to show her.

They walked, hand in gloved hand. As they watched the brown scrubby woods slowly becoming blanketed in snow, Logan haltingly told her about her book of poems that he had found by the lake, and kept. How he had kept the book under his pillow, treasuring the scent of her on its pages. And how one poem in particular had spoken to him — describing a moment just like this.

He told her how he had dreaded winter — the cold emptiness of it a mirror for the cold emptiness inside him.

She listened quietly, squeezing his big hand in hers.

"It's not like that anymore, Marie," he finally said. He took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly in a cloud of frosty air. " _I'm_  not like that anymore." His amber eyes were honest and vulnerable as they looked into hers. "That's all you, darlin'."

When he kissed her, the snow falling soft and thick all around and over them, his lips were shockingly warm against her cold face.

* * *

"Ah...fuck, Marie...Jesus, darlin'..."

She was killing him, honestly killing him. For as long as he lived he would never forget the way she looked right now, kneeling between his spread legs, the firelight glinting off her auburn-and-platinum hair.

"Shhhh, sugar..." she drawled, giving him another long, languid lick. Her dark eyes were bright with mischief, her pouty lips curving into a smile just before she leaned in again, taking him deep in her mouth.

He clenched the sofa so hard he was sure he would see fingermarks in the leather when he let go. She was teasing him mercilessly, the little minx, deliberately letting the buzz of her mutation stop and start, stop and start.

"Baby, please..." He didn't care that he was pathetic, begging.

Her soft little hands were driving him mad — stroking his tense belly, wandering up his chest, fingernails scraping gently up his inner thigh. She had abandoned the single glove days ago, confident now in her ability to control her mutation as long as she was the one doing the touching.  _A little too damn confident_ , he thought as she once again took him deep, the sensation of her hot little mouth pure bliss, the extra kick as the buzz started again making him see stars...

A strangled moan escaped him and she pulled back, one of her errant hands wandering down to stroke him lazily, keeping him burning, holding him at the edge. Those luscious lips curved into another smile as she turned the buzz on again, and then stopped it.

"You can't tell me you don't like it, sugar," she drawled, her hot breath against his damp skin making him whimper again. "Not when I'm feelin' what you're feelin'."

The idea of it made him twitch and swell impossibly in her hand. He knew sometimes she got a sense of what he was feeling from the buzz. And, god, he could smell it on her now — how hot she was, how ready, just from feeling secondhand what she was doing to him.

He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the rush of feelings, as she started the buzz again. He couldn't hide anything from her, she knew just what he wanted, just what he liked. He was hers, entirely, unreservedly. And he loved it.

She must have caught that thought, a possessive little growl from her joining the incredible combination of sensations as she rewarded him with a slow, deep suck, her tongue swirling around him, making him shiver.

She held him helpless, keeping him at the brink.

"Please, baby..." he growled again. He knew she loved it when he talked, when she could push him so far that his usually laconic demeanor was swept away by his overpowering need. And he gave it to her every time, couldn't help the desperate words that fell from his lips.

"C'mon, baby...oh, fuck...darlin',  _please_..."

Finally she relented. With a sweet hum of compliance she gave him what he needed — harder, faster, deeper, her soft loose hair brushing his thighs until the pleasure overtook him. Wave after wave crashed over him, making him growl and whine as he spilled himself deep into her sweet little mouth.

He collapsed back against the sofa, dazed and drained, as she slid up his body and snuggled into his lap.

"Jesus fuck, Marie..."

She giggled, and he squeezed her closer, smiling into her hair. She was many things, his Marie. Smart and practical, kind and strong...but no one but him knew about this sex kitten hiding beneath the surface. And if he had his way no one else ever would.

"You're a naughty, naughty girl, Marie," he rumbled into her hair, reveling in how the words sent a shiver up her spine, set her soft little body to squirming against him. He tipped her chin up and took her mouth, kissing her softly, sweetly — deliberately holding back until she pressed against him impatiently.

With a sudden movement he had her on her back on the sofa, looming over her, swallowing her squeak of surprise.

He pulled back to look into her wide eyes, running his thumb over her soft, pouty lower lip.

"But then again," he growled as he flicked open the buttons of her shirt, stopping to lick her collarbone before kissing a tantalizing line down her tender belly. "...I'm a very bad man..."

* * *

Marie lay on the couch, soaking up the fire, wondering if there was a sexier sound on earth than that of a man doing the dishes.

She listened, enjoying her laziness, as he turned the water off and hung up the dishtowel. His heavy footsteps came closer.

"Room for me?" he teased.

She pretended to grumble as he slid in behind her on the couch, pulling her into his arms. She snuggled into his shirt with a sigh. His hand started brushing gently up and down her back.

"So," she wondered aloud. "Think you can hunt us up a wild turkey, or should I put it on the grocery list for Samuel?"

"Hmmm..." he rumbled, the reverberations tickling her cheek. "I could probably snare us some quail if you wanted. Why turkey?"

She played idly with his other hand, lacing her fingers through his, tracing the tendons on the back of his hand. She had stopped wearing gloves completely.

"It's Thanksgiving next week. I was thinkin' we could do it up traditional. You know, turkey and pumpkin pie an' all that."

He rumbled with pleasure at her caress. "Do you even  _like_  turkey?"

"Not really. But that's not the point."

She scraped her nails in between his knuckles where the claws came out, teasing him deliberately. She knew he was hypersensitive there, and smiled at his answering growl.

"It's just us. Might as well do somethin' we like. How 'bout steak?"

She snorted. "You'd eat steak for breakfast, lunch and dinner if you could."

"Can't argue with that," he said mildly. His hand on her back grew more teasing, tickling up her neck and making her shiver before dipping down to trace circles on her lower back.

"Quail could be good," she conceded. "I'll bet there's a good recipe in one of these cookbooks. Anythin' else you want? You know, mashed potatoes, yams with marshmallows, cranberry jelly, green bean casserole..."

He shrugged. "Never really tried all that stuff. Not that I remember, at least."

She suddenly felt embarrassed and guilty. Of course he didn't have any family recipes he was yearning for, but she would have thought that he had at least tried the Thanksgiving special at a diner or something. She was suddenly determined to give him the best Thanksgiving he could ever imagine.

She eased herself up until she was sitting in his lap, kissing the corner of his mouth. "We'll do everythin' then. From stuffin' to pie. You try it all this year, and we'll pick our favorites to be our new tradition for the other years."

A strange expression crossed over his face.

"What?" she asked. "Did...did I say somethin' wrong?"

He kissed her then, so hard and long that she thought she might run out of breath. Not that she minded that much. It seemed like a good way to go.

"What was that for?" she asked when he finally let her go.

He rumbled an indecipherable noise, cuddling her back against his chest. "Nothin'." He kissed the top of her head. "I just got a lot to be thankful for, that's all."

* * *

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	19. The Nightmare

_Fuck all, if there was any place more miserable than Madripoor in May, Logan didn't know of it. The heat was oppressive, waves of it hazing his vision as dust choked his lungs. He would almost welcome the unbearable dampness and mosquitos once the monsoon season arrived in a few weeks._

" _Logan! Logan-bapa!"_

_Dammit._

" _Scram," Logan snarled at the kid who had started to dog his footsteps, tugging on his shirt._

_With the usual insouciance of street kids, Jithu paid no attention._

" _Logan-bapa! I found a frog! Come look!"_

" _Go find yer mother."_

" _She's coming!" Jithu exclaimed, to Logan's surprise. "She wants to see you, Logan-bapa!"_

_Christ, that was the last thing he needed. Trying to explain to some nosy mama why in the hell this kid had chosen him to follow around every day. He was damned if he knew._

" _Jithu!" a woman's voice called out._

_Logan stopped in his tracks with a sigh. He turned around. Jithu was already dragging a woman toward him by the hand, chattering excitedly. She was small and slender, her sloe-eyes dark, her sari draped effortlessly around her slim body. How she managed to look so cool in this heat was beyond him._

" _Mama!" Jithu was saying. "Logan-bapa!"_

" _Listen, kid..."_

_It happened in a flash. The woman's knife caught the sun for an instant and then it was burying itself solidly in his chest. He looked down at her through the cold burning pain, distantly thinking that the surprise on her face must have mirrored his. His eyes fell further, to where his claws were buried deep in her slender body, blood pooling around his knuckles. He had acted purely on instinct. He didn't even remember releasing them._

_They were frozen in a silent embrace for a moment, the grotesquely cheerful clamor of the marketplace surrounding them. Her spicy sandalwood scent clouded the air, tainted now by the salty smell of her blood._

_Suddenly, Jithu started to scream. "Mama! Mama! Mama!"_

_Logan felt the bile rising up in his throat. Her eyes were already empty, her mouth hanging laxly open. Jesus fuck, she didn't have to die. He would heal either way. He didn't even know who had sent her._

_He retracted his claws, catching the slim body easily, lowering it to the ground. The marketplace started to fall silent around him, as Jithu's piercing screams rang in his ears._

" _Kid..." He held out a hand toward him, but the kid was backing away. He looked at Logan as if he were a demon. And he was. He was._

" _Jithu..." he ground out, but the kid was already running._

_Several men had gathered nearer, murmuring agitatedly, but all of them backed away, frightened to meet Logan's eyes as he looked around him._

_He pulled the knife from his chest, dropping it to the ground, and walked away._

* * *

Logan jerked awake, his body covered in a cold sweat, his breath rasping through his burning lungs, his claws already out.

He sprinted for the front door and yanked it open, his bare feet skidding on the icy porch. He hung onto the cold wood of the porch rail as if it were a lifeline as he violently vomited up the contents of his stomach over the edge of the porch, and then retched and gasped with dry heaves for endless minutes more.

Finally the dry heaves subsided, and he sagged to his knees, pulling panting breaths into his sour throat, pressing his forehead against the chilly wood of the lower rail. Finally he stood on shaky legs, gathering a handful of snow from the porch rail and swishing it in his mouth before spitting it out.

He turned back toward the front door. Marie was silhouetted in the doorway. She stepped back as he came in and closed the door, handing him the dishtowel she was holding and a shot glass.

He avoided her eyes as he wiped his mouth and then downed the shot.

"Thanks," he muttered, as the shot of cognac burned down his throat, scorching away the bitterness and settling his stomach further.

He moved back towards the couch, but Marie's soft hand on his arm halted him.

"Uh uh," she said. "Upstairs. You're frozen. Go get into the bed."

"Marie..." he started to argue.

Her voice cut him off firmly. "I'm not askin' this time, Logan. I'm tellin'."

He rubbed a weary hand across his face. So far he had been able to avoid her after the nightmares, knowing he was snappish and out of sorts. One look at her determined face and he could tell that time had come to an end.

He sheepishly climbed the stairs. He slid between the warm covers, reluctantly admitting to himself that he felt a hell of a lot better as soon as he did. The warm cocoon of her bed surrounded him, the soft sweet smell of her filling his lungs. He felt even better when she crawled in after him, her slight weight settling firmly against his body.

He took a deep breath, feeling his heart rate slow, the panicky feeling starting to subside. Her hand was rubbing gently up and down his arm and he closed his eyes, trying to block out what he had remembered, focusing on her gentle touch.

"Will you tell me about it?" she finally asked.

He couldn't help himself — his body tensed, his heart rate jumping again.

God, he couldn't deny her anything, but this — he couldn't let her know about things like this. The monster that he was.

She must have read his answer in the tension of his body against hers.

"It's okay, sugar," she said. "You don't have to. I just..."

He felt her take in a deep breath and let it out, her hand never stopping its gentle stroking.

"I told you about when I went to find you, and the you in my head blocked me out? Kept me away from all your memories?"

He rumbled his acknowledgment. He had to admit, he had been relieved to hear that.

"I don't mind it, sugar. That's one of the things I hate most about my mutation...how intrusive it is. How it takes someone's privacy and just rips it away, even though they don't want it to, even though I don't want it to."

He squeezed her in sympathy. He knew how much it hurt her, carrying the memories and thoughts of others.

"If it just means that you keep things private, because you wanna, that's more than fine with me. I want you to be able to have that. But if you don't want me to know because you're scared that it's gonna change somethin' — change how I feel about ya — Logan, you gotta know that that's not true."

He felt himself getting a little panicky again. She could say that, but she didn't know. She  _couldn't_  know what was inside him, or she'd never tolerate him being around like she did.

"Shhh, sugar. Relax. I'm not forcin' ya to tell me anythin'."

He forced himself to try to take deep breaths.

Eventually she spoke again, her voice slow and meditative, her drawl honey-thick. "When I first got ya in my head...down by the lake...there was a spot in your memories. A spot of brightness, and I didn't hafta look hard to know that it was me. An' it was good, because that's why I wasn't afraid of ya anymore — knew ya wouldn't hurt me for anythin'. But at the same time, sometimes I wonder...how can you see me like that? All good, and sweet, and kind..."

He found his voice. "'Cause you are, Marie. You're all of that. More'n I ever imagined anyone could be. 'Specially to someone like me."

She gave him a quick squeeze in acknowldegement, but she seemed determined to get this out.

"But that's what I mean. Maybe I am that stuff, 'specially with you. But I'm no saint, Logan. I've got bad stuff too. An' I'm not just talkin' about how I can be petty, or mean, or hold a grudge like nobody's business. I've done things I'm not proud of — on the road, but even after that. And those parts of me are still parts of me, and you gotta know about them too. About all of me."

He growled at the implication. "I don't give a fuck about that other stuff, Marie. I  _know_  you."

She shrugged. "Maybe. You know the me that's here at the cabin." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I've been an X-Man for a few years, Logan. On the junior team, and then rotatin' on missions with the main team. I knew when I signed up that things can get dicey, and maybe it meant dyin'. But what I didn't realize at first, was that it probably meant killin' as well."

He'd admit it, she had surprised him there.

"Usually it's just fightin'," she continued. "Leavin' someone with a bloody nose and a few broken ribs, and assumin' it's okay. Xavier is really big on the whole Sanctity of Life thing, and so is Scott. We practice a lot, takin' people down without havin' to deliver the killin' blow." Her voice grew a little hoarse. "But one mission we were on...these Friends of Humanity bastards had taken a coupla teenagers. A mutant girl, and her human boyfriend. Wanted to make an example of 'em, like a good ol' Klan lynchin'. And when we showed up..."

She nuzzled her face into his chest, and he could feel the wetness on her cheeks. "We were fightin', and we had it under control, and then one of them outta nowhere had a grenade. Jus' tossed it at the kids, casual as can be — an' no one seemed to see it 'cept me."

He ran a hand soothingly down her hair, encouraging her to finish.

"I coulda done a lot of things, I realized afterwards," she said. "It only took me a split second to call on Magneto in my head. I coulda thrown that thing miles away. Hell, I probably coulda even got the pin back in it. But what I did — " Her breath hitched a little. "What I did, was drop it back right in the middle of all of 'em."

"Baby..."

"Scott hustled us outta there before I could really see the carnage, but he couldn't keep me from readin' about it the next day. I killed three people that day, Logan. Guys with families, and regular jobs. Sure they were doin' somethin' awful, but half of 'em probably didn't even know what was gonna go down that night. Jus' got carried away with the hysteria. I've seen how it can catch people — jus' regular people, people who wouldn't even think of doin' somethin' like that on their own..."

"Shhh...darlin'...it's okay."

"Scott tried to play it off like it was Magneto who made the decision. Like once I used his power he was the one callin' the shots. An' I was coward enough to let him go on thinkin' so, 'cause I didn't want anyone to think less of me. But I think some of 'em knew the truth — Xavier for sure, and maybe Jeannie. They knew that I did it on purpose. Jus' me."

He heard something in her voice he had never heard before — a cold, steely ruthlessness. "'Cause as much as I knew later that they were jus' regular people, at the time I wanted the fuckers to die. An' so I killed 'em."

It only lasted for a moment, and then he felt the sadness overwhelm her scent. He held her close, soothing her, adjusting his image of her in light of this new information. And damn, as much as he could tell it tore her up inside, the majority of his reaction was pride.

He had known for awhile that she was strong, and determined, but it was a little different now. Maybe it was the Wolverine in him, reveling in the knowledge that his mate had the ferocity to protect herself and their young.  _Christ...his mate? Their young? When in the hell had he started thinking like that?_

He pushed the errant thought aside, focusing on the woman in his arms. He cradled her closer, running his hand up and down her back.

"Maybe this'll tell you what kind of bastard I really am, darlin', but — I'm glad. I'm glad that you were able to stand up for yourself. Do what needed to be done, to protect yourself and those kids. Maybe it didn't have to happen that way, but in that moment — no one can blame you for actin' on instinct..."

He trailed off, considering his own words. Damn, but she had him pegged. Knowin' what she had done, it didn't change how he felt about her — not one damn bit. Could he believe the same of her? That she could know the things that he had done and understand?

He felt shaky and weird, the panic starting to rise in him again, but he closed his eyes and spoke anyway.

"I killed a woman, Marie. Right in front of her kid. I dreamed it, but I know it happened. I didn't mean to — she came at me with a knife and the claws just came out — but he was lookin' right at us, just watchin', and then he started screamin'. And the way he looked at me — like I was some kind of demon, some kind of nightmare..."

His voice broke, and he closed his eyes in shame. "I never want to see you lookin' at me like that, Marie," he finished softly. "That's what I'm scared of."

She was holding him tight, nuzzling even closer. "I never will, Logan. I promise ya. I'll never think that of ya." Her voice was steady and certain. "Whatever you did — whatever you remember. You don't have to worry about that any more, sugar."

He hadn't realized how much he had needed to hear that from her. How much he needed to know that. He lay there in the darkness, holding her close, smelling the truth of her words, feeling suddenly free of at least some of the fears that had been haunting him.

* * *

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	20. The Bed

Marie lay next to Logan, her arm and leg slumped over his body, watching him sleep. His face seemed so much more relaxed in sleep, so much younger. She wished there was a way for her to erase all his worries, so that he could look like that all the time.

He had been so tense last night, his muscles brick-hard with apprehension, his heart thumping frantically against her ear as he told her about his nightmare. She wondered again how she had known just how much to push him and when to back off until he finally opened up to her. She seemed to have an unexpected insight sometimes into how he was feeling and how he might react. She wondered if she was just so attuned to him after all this time alone together, or...

She tilted her head, considering it. The Logan in her head seemed willing to share at least some information with her. Or was it the Wolverine in her head? Whether it was because she had absorbed him right after the heat of battle with the mountain lion, or if it was before she had slowly brought the man to the forefront through her interactions with him, the Logan in her head was definitely more feral than the one in her bed. Was he watching, sending her information from time to time to help her navigate her relationship with the Logan out here? The idea was odd, but somehow it seemed to fit. She kind of liked the notion — almost like she and Logan had their own guardian angel, watching out for them.

There was something else either her instincts or Logan-in-her-head were telling her, and Logan-in-her-bed was not going to be happy about it. She smiled a secret smile. She'd have to see if she could put him in a more accommodating mood.

With that in mind she snuggled in a little closer. She felt him start to stir, his arm coming up to reflexively squeeze her in tighter. He made a low deep rumble, almost a purr, as he took in her scent, before finally opening his eyes.

"Mornin', sugar," she drawled.

"Mornin'," he rumbled automatically. She saw the moment the haze cleared, and he lifted his head, taking in his surroundings. "Marie, you shouldn'ta let me fall asleep up here..."

"Yeah, about that." She moved so she was straddling him, his hips clasped between her legs, her breasts heavy on his chest. Even through the sweatpants he had worn to sleep and her satin pajama bottoms, he felt delicious. Yes, her instincts were definitely right on this count.

"I've decided somethin'," she continued, breathing the words into his ear before nipping little kisses down his neck.

"Hmmm?" She could tell he was only half-listening, as his hands started to run appreciatively up and down her spine, first over her tank top and then sliding underneath to explore the bare skin of her back.

"Yep." She anchored her hands on his shoulders and pushed back until she was sitting up. She waited until his hooded eyes opened again, meeting hers. "You're sleepin' up here from now on."

He grew still for a moment, and then sighed.

"Darlin', I wish I could, but it's not a good idea..."

"Why?" she interrupted. "'Cause you'll hurt me?" She reached down to where his hands had settled on her hips, taking them in hers and drawing them upwards. He watched in silence as she brought each hand to her lips, gently kissing the knuckles. "I don't think so." Her eyes flitted back to his mischievously as her tongue flicked out to lick between his knuckles, making him groan and buck up against her.

"Dammit, Marie. You've seen the nightmares..."

"Yeah, sugar, I have." She leaned in close to him. "A..." She kissed him gently on the lips. "...I know when you're havin' them. I'm a light sleeper, sugar, an' I guarantee you that I'll be outta the bed before you can get those claws out."

"Marie..." She ignored the warning growl.

"B..." She kissed him again, a little deeper this time. "It's not like I'm in the path of your claws anyway. Whether I'm cuddled up behind you, or sleepin' on your chest like today, your claws are on the other side of me."

She saw him formulating his next protest and swooped in before he could speak. "C..." She added a little wiggle to the kiss this time, and his growl turned into a needier sound, his hands clenching on her hips and his lips chasing hers as she leaned back again. "Worst case scenario, if we have an accident you can heal me. The you in my head might even be able to do it for ya."

This time his growl couldn't be forestalled. "That's not good enough, Marie. Like I could live with myself, hurtin' you, even if you healed from it?"

She sighed. "Which brings me to D." He was grumpier now, and so she took her time with this kiss, exploring his mouth gently, his tongue slick and hot against hers, tangling together until she felt his breath growing short, his body hardening fully against hers.

She pulled back again, her own breath coming fast. "I need this, Logan." Her voice was quiet and serious. "I want to be with you. How many times have we fallen asleep together? On the couch, on the floor? You've never even come close to hurtin' me. You sleep better with me, an' I sleep better with you. I'll be damned if I'm gonna sleep away from you for..."  _Oops, she had almost said 'for the rest of my life.' Way to scare a man out of your bed, Marie._

"...for goodness knows how long," she self-corrected. "I need this, and you do too. Or he does, at least. The Wolverine. He knows how wrong it is not to share a bed with his..."  _Damn, almost slipped again, and said 'his mate.' Shoulda practiced this little speech._

"...his woman," she improvised. The instinct in her head was telling her, loud and strong, that this was true. That this was  _important_. "He wants this. To sleep up here, both of us, where you can see me an' smell me an' protect me. He has my scent, and he wouldn't hurt me, even in sleep. I'm sure of it, Logan."

He was considering her words, his thumbs skimming little circles at her waist as his brow furrowed in thought. He wanted this, she could tell, but his protective instincts were at war with each other. He couldn't keep her safe  _with_  him and safe  _from_  him at the same time.

"The risk..." he finally said, but she heard the hesitation in his voice.

"...Is worth it to me," she said firmly. She wound her hands into his hair, letting him see the open plea in her eyes. "Can we at least try it for a little while? I promise ya, Logan, if there's even the slightest hint of a problem — even a near-miss — I won't ask it of ya again."

He searched her face, and she saw the moment he made his decision. "Okay, darlin'," he agreed, his expression softening as his warm hand came up to brush back the white lock of her hair. "We'll give it a try."

She could feel the smile spreading across her face as she launched herself at him fully, giggling at his breathless huff as she landed hard on his chest, hugging him tight.

"You won't be sorry, I promise," she murmured into his skin.

"Hmmmmm..." The reverberations of his low hum made her giggle again as his hands crept under her tank top again, this time pulling it over her head.

She sat back up again, watching his eyes darken as they took in the sight of her, bare-breasted in the morning light. He pressed up into her, slowly, demandingly.

"Now that you've got me in your bed, darlin'," he teased, the thick rasp of his voice making her shiver. "What are you gonna do with me?"

She ran her hands up his bare chest until they landed back at his shoulders. She leaned forward, until the curtain of her auburn and white hair surrounded them as she licked and nipped at his lips.

"Oh, sugar," she promised. "I've got all  _sorts_  of ideas..."

* * *

Marie relaxed back on the couch, her feet on the coffee table and Logan's head in her lap. He was reading but she was just staring into the fire, sipping on her mulled cider from time to time and enjoying this closeness with him. She feathered her hand through his hair, enjoying the feel of it, letting her mind drift drowsily.

He had packed away more food at their private Thanksgiving feast than she ever would have thought one man could eat, and Marie had kept mental notes on his likes and dislikes. She had indulged his carnivorous tendencies by making bacon-wrapped quail, and that had gone over well, as had the sausage and cornbread stuffing. He didn't seem to like the green bean casserole or sweet potatoes, but he had put away almost half of the pecan pie on his own.

She ran her hand down the back of his neck, kneading the muscles there, and he rumbled appreciatively. God, she loved to touch him. She couldn't imagine how she had lived without this for so long. And he loved to touch her, too. Tender little brushes and squeezes, stolen kisses every chance he got. Not to mention...

She could feel her cheeks growing warm just thinking about it. They had touched each other in just about every way imaginable except one. Logan had been remarkably patient — never pushing for more, always letting her indicate what she was ready for. Still, she knew that it must be hard for him, especially as a feral, not to have claimed her fully.

She had blushed to high heaven telling him, but he knew that birth control wasn't an issue. After absorbing Jean and Jubilee, Marie's cycle had gotten so messed up that Hank had put her on birth control pills to regulate things. She had taken them as if they were vitamins, never really thinking of the other advantages until Logan moved in, but Hank had sent her off to the cabin with a whole year's supply.

She let her hand come up to brush his cheek, smiling at how he seemed to always have stubble no matter how recently he had shaved. He nuzzled absent-mindedly into her hand a little bit. No, the only thing holding her back was fear, and she suddenly decided that she wasn't going to let it hold her back anymore. If Logan was willing to take the risk, then so was she.

She let her hand wander down his neck, rubbing his chest. "Sugar?" she asked.

"Hmmm?" he rumbled, still reading.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her suddenly-thumping heart. "I was wonderin' if we should try somethin' new."

"Darlin', if I have another bite of anythin' you're gonna have to roll me up those stairs."

She would have giggled if she wasn't suddenly so nervous. "I didn't mean that. I meant..." God, she could talk to him about anything, why was she suddenly stuck for words? "I meant...try somethin' new...in bed," she said awkwardly.

She suddenly had his full attention. He put his book down on the ground and sat up, pulling her in to snuggle closer. She breathed in his warmth and scent, waiting for him to speak.

"You're sure?" he finally said. There was something unexpected in his voice, something oddly hesitant.

She nodded into his flannel shirt. "I mean, I'm still worried — if it hurts me, my skin is gonna turn on, and I'm pretty sure it's gonna hurt bein' the first time an' all. I was hopin' I could control it better but I think that this might be the best it's gonna get. Are you okay with that? Takin' that risk with my skin an' all? An' even stoppin' if we hafta, if I can't control it?"

He was quiet for a long time, and she started to get nervous. "I mean, if you think it's too risky, we could try with clothes and condoms an' all that first, I just..."

" _That's_  what you've been waitin' for? Better control of your skin?" His surprised voice interrupted her ramblings.

She pulled back, puzzled. "Well...yeah." She searched his face. He was avoiding her eyes. "Logan...what did you think it was about?" She was obviously missing something here.

"It's not important, darlin'." He tried to pull her back against him, but she braced her arms.

"I think...I think it is." She waited until he met her eyes sheepishly. "Logan...what were you thinkin' was holdin' me back?"

"I just thought maybe..." His eyes shied away from hers again, and then he shrugged. "You got control of your skin now. You don't...you don't need someone with healin'."

It took a minute for the meaning of his words to hit her, but when it did it felt like a punch to the gut. "You thought...that I was savin' that for someone else? What, that I was just usin' you for  _practice?!_ Logan, how could you think that?"

"You're still trainin'." His voice was gruff and defensive, and she felt herself at a loss again at the apparent non sequitur.

"What does that have to do with anythin'?"

His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides, the seams of his flannel shirt near to bursting under the tension in his arms and shoulders.

"It means you're goin' back, right? And when you do..." He took a deep breath and his voice gentled. "Marie, someone like you, you'll have your pick of guys. Guys who are smart, with money, and...stuff. Normal guys, without all that crap that I have. You don't need to settle for someone like me."

She didn't know who she was angrier at, him for thinking that, or herself for not being clearer about her intentions. Here she was, trying not to scare him by talking about any sort of commitment — she should have known that he would think the worst.

"Logan, I don't know whether to smack ya or kiss the daylights outta ya, sugar." She wound her hands into his hair, forcing his eyes to hers, forcing him to see the truth of her words. "You think I don't know what's out there? I met a lotta guys, Logan, an' there ain't no competition. You think I could be this way with anyone else, healin' or not? I can't believe that you'd think so little of me — so little of _us_  — as to think I'm just markin' time with you until I find someone better. There ain't no one better for me than you.  _No one_."

She could feel her voice thickening with tears, and she rushed to get out this next part before she had time to think twice about it. "I love you, Logan. Jus' you. I've been tryin' not to scare you by tellin' you, tryin' not to pressure you. But wherever I go next — I was hopin' you would come with me."

She pulled in a shuddering breath. "I was thinkin' we could have a place of our own, a little ways out from the mansion. Xavier has lots of land, an' I know he would be okay with that. An' if that doesn't work for you an' you wanna stay here, we'll find a way to do that too. But I wanted us to be like that.  _Together_. That's what  _I_ was thinkin'."

She bit her lip, watching his face, feeling like she was in freefall. Her instincts were no help here — for all she knew he was going to run. His golden eyes were intent but unreadable as he searched her expression for long moments.

The next thing she knew she was pressed underneath him, his lips crushing hers as a deep, possessive growl rumbled through them both.

"Marie," he growled into her mouth before taking her lips again — devouring, invading, stealing her very breath from her. He was wild, grinding into her, his hands everywhere, his mouth now licking and biting her neck.

She felt her body light up from the inside, relief and sudden arousal combining to make her lightheaded. Warmth shot through her, sizzling through her veins, setting her whole body to glowing.

She wrapped her arms around him, his wildness sparking her own. She pushed up against his seeking body, welcoming the onslaught, encouraging it.

Then he was lifting her, her arms wrapping around his neck, her legs tight around his waist. He managed a few steps before he pushed her up against the wall by the stairs, his mouth hot on hers again, his hands sliding up under her shirt to pull her even closer.

"Marie," he breathed into her neck. "Stay with me, Marie." He nipped her again, marking her, growling in pleasure as she bared her neck in greater submission.

"Yeah, sugar," she panted, breathless but jubilant. "I'm stayin' with you." She roughly pulled his head up to hers, smiling against his lips before nipping him back. "Now take us to bed."

* * *

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	21. The Possession

She kept her legs clasped tightly around his waist, trusting him not to let them fall as they staggered their way up the stairs, shedding clothing as they went.

He shrugged free of the flannel shirt she was pushing off his shoulders with an impatient snarl, his bare arms clamping tight around her hips as she leaned back, frantically yanking her own shirt off over her head.

His eyes were wild, molten gold, as he slammed her up against the wall again only halfway up the stairs, pulling down on the cups of her bra to bare her breasts to his seeking mouth. She wound her hands in his hair, crying out as his teeth scraped against her sensitive skin before he suckled the hurt away, the stubble of his beard rasping the swell of her breast.

"Logan...hurry..." she managed, flexing her thighs so that she was rubbing against him, desperate to get even closer. He raised his head and she captured his mouth, tugging his lower lip between her teeth, reveling in the growl she elicited from him.

Then they were upstairs and she landed on her back on the soft duvet, already pulling her bra off, twisting her hips to shimmy out of her jeans as his eager hands stripped them down her legs.

He stood for a moment looking down at her, his bare chest heaving, his hair tousled from her hands, his eyes dark with desire. She saw him clench his fists, taking in a deep breath.

She reached for him, and then drew in a surprised breath as he stepped back.

"Sugar?" she asked, suddenly uncertain.

She saw his nostrils flare as he breathed deep again. He turned his back to her, the broad muscles shifting and flexing with tension beneath his tanned skin. When he spoke his voice was a harsh growl, barely understandable through his clenched jaw.

"I — I have to get control, Marie."

Her uncertainty faded. She stood up, taking the step closer to him before running her hand down his tense back from his neck to the hollow at the base of his spine.

"I don't want controlled, sugar. I want  _you_."

She didn't even see him move but she was suddenly flat on her back again on the bed, his weight heavy on top of her, his hands gripping her wrists above her head. She felt the buckle of his belt biting into her belly but still couldn't help herself from pushing into his body eagerly.

She felt his teeth on her neck — not his usual love nip but a gentle but firm bite combined with a warning growl, demanding her submission. She could feel the beast in him moving closer to the surface, could see him struggling to form words that would otherwise have come so easily to him.

"Marie..." He took her mouth again, voraciously — almost violently — and she scraped her nails down his back, wanting even more.

He pulled away, panting, before burying his face in her neck. "Fuck, Marie...let me do right by you. Make it good for you," he muttered into the damp skin of her neck.

She felt like every nerve in her body was on fire. She pushed against him again, rubbing shamelessly against the hard ridge in his denim jeans, making them both groan. "It is...it's so good, Logan. Please..."

He pushed away again, off the bed, and for a second she thought he might actually be leaving. Instead he grabbed her ankles, roughly pulling her to the edge of the bed before looming over her. His eyes were almost completely wild now, a low rumbling growl accompanying every exhale.

She watched, transfixed, as he sprang one claw, tracing the blunt edge over her belly, making her shiver and clench — not with fear but with arousal. He inhaled her reaction, rumbling approvingly, and with two quick flicks cut the panties from her body.

He dropped to his knees on the floor, sliding her further down the bed until her legs were over his shoulders, and then she was lost, flooded with sensation. His mouth was ravenous, his stubbled cheeks scraping her inner thighs as his lips and teeth and tongue consumed her. Her hands grasped at the duvet for purchase, her back arching under the shocks of pleasure that rocked her body with every lick and suckle, every scrape of his teeth.

She couldn't even form words anymore, little urgent cries escaping her as she writhed in pleasure.

He rumbled his approval again, sending low vibrations skittering up her spine. Her world narrowed until nothing existed but the warmth of his tongue, the scrape of his stubble, and the deep rasp of his voice.

"That's it, baby," he panted, cradling her hips in his large hands. "So close." He pulled her harder into his mouth, lapping at her roughly, growling his words into the slick skin. "Give it to me."

She felt his words jolt through her and then she was flying, her body shuddering helplessly as waves of pleasure rushed over her. Through the haze of bliss she felt one of his fingers slide inside her and then another, the fullness causing her to clench again, prolonging her release with delicious aftershocks.

She heard him groan hoarsely at the feel of her. He rested his forehead for a moment against her belly, his eyes closing again as he seemed to fight for control.

"Marie..." he ground out. "Need you...need to be inside you now."

She placed her hand on his head tenderly. "It's okay, Logan. Stop fightin' it. I want it too."

She shivered with loss as his hand pulled free and then she was pushing herself back on the bed, eagerly pulling at his belt as he clambered up after her. She got his jeans unfastened, shoving them down his hips until he was able to kick them off, and then he was naked and hot and hard and exactly where she wanted him to be.

He paused again, cradled between her thighs, his eyes meeting hers, his arms shaking with strain. "You're sure, baby?" he asked.

"Yes," she breathed, knowing that he needed to hear it. "Please," she couldn't stop herself from adding as she pushed up against him impatiently. He was all hard muscle and hot skin, and she needed him, desperately, now.

Then he was pushing slowly, inexorably into her. She felt her own eyes widen for a moment — she thought she had been more than ready but he was just too big, too much. She felt her body tensing against the invasion, felt the buzz of her mutation springing to life. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on stopping it, just as Logan gritted his teeth and shoved all the way inside her with a harsh groan.

_Marie...my Marie...at last...so good...tight wet hot sweet...wants me loves me...mine..._

The sudden rush of lust and possessiveness, tempered with concern, swept over her. She realized that the buzz of her mutation was giving her Logan's feelings, and they were intense, overwhelming. She let them wash over her — joy, and acceptance, and almost unbearably sweet pleasure.

His emotions were so heady, so intoxicating, she was almost reluctant to end the connection between them. Whether it was her body simply adjusting to him or if she had taken a little of his healing as well, the pain had faded, leaving behind only a stretching feeling of fullness. She found with relief that she was able to control her mutation easily, and turned it off.

"Okay, darlin'?" he asked, his jaw tight with strain. She realized he was restraining himself with an effort, waiting for her to adjust. She looked up at him and smiled.

* * *

Logan clenched his jaw tight, feeling his arms shake with strain. God, how amazing it felt to finally be inside her, to make her truly his, knowing that she loved him and wanted him in return. He knew from his fractured memories that he had slept with women — probably countless women — before, but this felt like the first time for them both.

It was taking every scrap of restraint he could manage to hold himself still now that he was deep inside her. The animal was closer to the surface than ever before — had already been called forward by Marie's declaration of love and fidelity, knowing that she was his and only his. Now combined with the indescribable pleasure of feeling her around him, not to mention the combined smell of Marie and sex and the faintest tinge of blood — he could feel the Wolverine howling to be set free.

Sweat gathered at his temples, the buzz of her mutation teasing him mercilessly, urging him to plunge into her the way he wanted to, but he held back. She was so damn small and there was no denying he was a big guy — as ready as she was he could feel the tension in her body as she fought for control, and even though it would damn near kill him to stop he wouldn't set back her progress by letting her mutation kick in fully again.

Suddenly he felt her relax, her scent spiking with arousal as the buzz of her mutation ceased.

"Okay, darlin'?" he ground out through gritted teeth.

She looked up at him and smiled, and it was the most beautiful damn thing he had ever seen in his life.

"Yeah," she breathed. She moved experimentally against him and they both cried out with the sensation.

"Jesus, baby..." He kissed her, soft and swift, and then he let the leash slip a little on his control, moving softly, slowly, rocking into her.

"God, Logan," she sighed, and his heart sang at the breathy pleasure in her voice. She began to move with him, pushing up in counterpoint to his thrusts, urging him deeper.

"Marie." He whispered the word like a prayer, his lips against her hair. His mind was hazed with the unbelievable feel of her body, the smell of her skin, the soft little urgent sounds she was making. He closed his eyes against the rush of feeling. She loved him, wanted him, and it was more than he ever thought possible.

He could feel her growing impatient with his steady thrusts, her incoherent cries turning to soft whimpers as her nails dug into his back, demanding more, slipping the leash on his control further. He pulled her knee up, spreading her wider, surging hard and deep into her welcoming body.

He swallowed her cry of pleasure, growling into her mouth in return before kissing her again, hot and delicious. She tasted of cider and desire and the unbearable sweetness of Marie, and he plundered her mouth, ravenous for more.

She was close, so close — he could smell it on her, hear it in the gasp of her voice, feel it in the desperate way she was arching her body, grinding against him. As much as he never wanted this to end he was equally desperate to come, the pleasure gathering at the base of his spine, every muscle in his body straining.

"C'mon, baby," he growled, urging her on with a quick lick across her lips. "Come for me, darlin'." The possessiveness of the animal could no longer be denied. "Show me you're mine," he demanded harshly, as he pulled her up into his next thrust.

He saw the pleasure start to overtake her — her beautiful dark eyes widening in surprise and then closing in ecstasy as her body fluttered around his rigid length. She shuddered and twisted underneath him, crying out his name, and he was barely able to bite back a roar of triumph.

"Mine," he rasped, thrusting into her erratically, finally letting himself go, not even realizing what he was saying. " _Mine_."

"Yours," she affirmed breathlessly, the promise in her voice sending him mad with pleasure as he let the rush overtake him.

He grasped the pillow beside her head, his claws springing free involuntarily as he came hard, pulsing wetly into her body even as he continued to push erratically into her. He buried his face in her neck, teeth reflexively marking her tender skin as he shuddered against her, growling with the mindless pleasure of completion.

He felt the gentle buzz of her mutation turn on, sending new shudders up his spine, prolonging the rush unendingly.

"Ah, fuck, Marie..." he ground out, delirious with the the intensity of it. "Jesus, darlin'..."

Almost lightheaded, still shaking with the force of his release, he felt Marie unexpectedly clench and then flutter around him again. He growled with satisfaction as he felt her come in a rush again, triggered by the shared sensation.

He used the last of his strength to roll them, pressing Marie to his chest as his body melted into total relaxation, a slow, deep warmth spreading through every limb.

_Mine_ , he thought again with satisfaction, her words replaying in his mind as their ragged breathing slowly evened out.  _She wants me to stay with her. She loves me. Just me._

He felt like he was still wrapping his mind around it, but there was no doubting it now. The animal in him recognized the total acceptance of their mating. He wondered if she knew what she was getting herself into. They were bonded now. Mates. For the rest of his life — and from what he had pieced together of his memories and his failure to age a day in the three years he could remember, that could be a damn long time — there would be no other for him. And god help anyone or anything that tried to come between them.

He nuzzled into her hair, breathing in her sleepy, satisfied scent. Her arms tightened around him. She kissed his chest gently, sending a pang through his heart. The joy of having her was shadowed by the fear of losing her. She was so small pressed against him like this, so precious. How could something this good happen to a vicious, worthless bastard like him?

He pushed the thought aside. Maybe this was his reward, for all the shit he could and couldn't remember. Whatever the reason, he'd spend the rest of his life making sure he deserved it. Making sure he deserved  _her_.

He brushed a hand through her hair tenderly, smiling at the sleepy, happy noise she made in response.

"Sleep, darlin'," he rumbled, and then took a deep breath. "Love you," he added softly. He felt her smile against his chest as she slid into sleep.

* * *

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	22. The Fight

"You really think you can take me?" He flexed the muscles of his shoulders, cracking his neck. He flashed her a grin she had never seen before, sharp and predatory. "Then come at me, darlin'."

She narrowed her eyes at him, bouncing on the balls of her feet. He was so damn confident. She may not win, but she'd do her best to take him down a peg or two.

This had been his idea — sparring to help her learn to control her mutation in combat situations. It was a good idea, making sure her skin didn't defensively flip on if she took a hit. It would give her the choice of whether to use her mutation as a weapon, saving it for a last resort. Still, good idea or not, he didn't have to be so damn cocky about it.

Snow was three feet deep outside, but the cabin was nice and warm. He stood solidly in the middle of the exercise mats as she approached, his massive chest bare, his faded jeans hanging precariously from his hipbones without the ridiculously large-buckled belt he usually wore. She wore only a tank top and exercise shorts, exposing a maximum amount of skin to accidental touches. His eyes were watchful, but he hadn't even dropped into a fighting stance yet. She moved closer.

She feinted with her right hand, bringing up her left in a swift rabbit punch to his belly as he shifted. His reflexes were quick — he turned just in time so her fist glanced off his ribs instead. Damn, even with her hands wrapped that hurt like hell.  _Right, adamantium skeleton, stupid,_ she told herself, mentally adjusting her strategy.

He struck out swiftly with a right hook but she ducked it, grabbing his outstretched arm and using his own momentum to send him stumbling forward as her leg swept his feet. He caught his balance at the last minute and they disengaged, circling each other.

They weren't sparring for real yet, just taking each others' measure. She saw in his eyes that he was taking this more seriously now.

"What's the matter, sugar? Scared?" she taunted.

He growled, deep and low, and she smiled.

* * *

"What's the matter, sugar? Scared?" she taunted.

He growled at her in irritation, wondering what in the hell he had been thinking when he suggested this.

She was so focused on the fight she probably had no idea the effect she was having on him, her body slender and lithe in that tank top and tiny shorts, her skin already flushed and slightly damp from the exertion.

He tried to concentrate as she moved in again. She was better than he had expected — much better. He knew she was fit, but he hadn't realized how well she had been trained. Her reflexes were almost as good as his and he could already tell that she mixed fighting styles easily, fluidly adapting her approach based on the challenge.

She aimed a kick at his head and he blocked it. She used the force of his block to jump up, her other foot catching him square in the chest, sending him stumbling back a few steps as she landed back on the balls of her feet. He grunted in appreciation. If he didn't have that extra hundred pounds or so of metal in him she would have sent him flying.

He narrowed his eyes, circling her again. He definitely had some advantages — size and strength, the weight of his metal skeleton, and a reach that far exceeded hers. But she was fighting smart, using her greater speed and flexibility to her advantage, and using his excessive weight against him.

He decided to see how she'd do at grappling. That's where she would have the least advantage.

He moved in swiftly. She got in a few good licks but he barrelled through them, sweeping her leg and taking her down as gently as he could, landing on his elbows to keep his weight off of her. She used it to her advantage, getting her knee up between them as they fell, pressing it hard into his diaphragm and driving the breath from his lungs.

Using her knee as leverage he managed to flip her, twisting her arm behind her back to hold her still, his hips pinning her lower body in place. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to tamp down on his arousal as she wriggled against him. He was enjoying this much more than he should.

He leaned down, nuzzling into her neck, breathing in the warm sweet smell of her. "You give, baby?"

The next thing he knew pain was exploding through his face. Smart girl — knowing better than to head-butt his metal skull directly she had side-swiped his nose, cracking it, scrambling out from under him as his grip reflexively loosened.

She bounced to her feet at the edge of the mat, and he saw her eyes widen at his bloody nose.

"Aw, sugar," she said remorsefully. "Are ya okay?"

He sat back, pinching the bridge of his nose, wiggling it a little. "Think it's still out of joint...can you come take a look?"

She scrambled toward him, concerned, and just as she got close he dropped his shoulder, ducking it into her belly and then straightening up with her in a fireman's hold, dangling over his shoulder.

He took a moment to appreciate the spectacular view. Keeping one arm solidly braced behind her knees, he couldn't resist giving her delicious bottom a hearty smack with the other hand.

"Never said I fought fair, darlin'. Maybe next time you'll — oof!"

She elbowed him hard in the kidneys, and as his grip slackened she grabbed the waistband of his jeans, yanking up with all her strength. "Aargh," he choked out as his balls were strangled by the crotch of his jeans.

As he doubled over she used the downward force to slide herself along his back. He made a grab for her ankles, worried even through the red haze of pain that she might land on her head, but she slid into a handstand and dropped straight into a graceful roll, springing back to her feet.

"Damn, baby." He eyed her warily, adjusting himself in his jeans.

She smiled mischievously. "Sorry, sugar." Her voice dropped to a husky drawl. "Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

_At least I know everything is still in working order,_ he thought wryly as he hardened instantly.

"I think you might need another spankin', baby," he said darkly, smiling inwardly as her eyes widened.

She recovered instantly, sending him a saucy wink. "Then I'll have to be an especially bad girl, won't I?" She pulled off her tank top, revealing the sports bra she was wearing underneath.

The air crackled with tension as they circled each other, each looking for the advantage. He tried unsuccessfully to pry his eyes away from her heaving breasts as a droplet of sweat trickled down into the depths of her cleavage. He wanted to chase it with his tongue.

He could feel the animal inside him stirring, lured by the promise of sex and violence. He could still taste the coppery tang of his own blood in his mouth, the scent of her sweat and arousal filling his lungs. This had started out as play but now he felt darker instincts being roused — the urge to dominate her, to show Marie her proper place in his pack.

He halted his movements, rubbing a hand across his face and taking a deep breath.

"Maybe we should stop for now, darlin'," he said, his voice rough.

Her gaze raked over him appraisingly, and he saw comprehension light her eyes. "Feelin' a little wild, sugar?"

He figured his growl was answer enough.

She smiled seductively. "I dunno...I kinda like you wild."

He scowled at her. "You're playin' with fire, Marie."

She moved closer, her hips swaying, running a finger down his bare chest. "Then let's play."

He made a grab at her but she shifted behind him, jumping on his back. Her legs wrapped around his waist to hold her in place as one arm caught him around the neck in a vicious choke hold. He reached up, yanking at her arm to give himself some breathing room, just as her other arm snaked around his middle to his groin, stroking him gently through the denim.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Marie!"

She giggled —  _giggled!_ — and then he felt her sharp little teeth, nipping firmly at the back of his neck.

He felt the animal surge even closer to the surface. Try to mark  _him_ , would she? "You're in trouble now, darlin'," he rasped.

She had already made him weak at the knees, it was no problem to drop suddenly into a kneel, jolting her and loosening the grip of her legs around his waist. In a flash he had her under him, her wrists in his iron grip above her head, his hips pinning her securely to the mat.

He buried his face in her neck, finding his mark and giving her a quick extra nip on it before soothing it with his tongue.

"Be careful what you wish for, darlin'," he muttered into her salty skin.

He ground his hips into her, feeling her breath catch.

"Maybe I don't wanna be careful. Maybe I don't want  _you_ to be so careful." Her voice was soft and serious, and he pulled back to look in her eyes.

"What are you sayin', Marie?"

She tugged one hand free from his loosened grip, bringing it up to gently brush his cheek.

"I understand how worried you were about hurtin' me, Logan, 'specially at first. But I see how much you struggle sometimes, tryin' to stay in control. An' you don't need to, sugar. If I wanted to prove anythin' today it was that I'm not gonna break." Her dark eyes bored into his. "You can let him go, sugar."

He felt his gut churning with both fear and temptation. What she was offering him — a part of him wanted nothing more. But yet...

He pushed his face back into the damp skin of her neck, breathing hard, unable to meet her eyes with what he needed to say.

"Marie...I have memories — really screwed-up memories — of lettin' him free. Of usin' women like that — maybe even hurtin' 'em. I never wanna do that to you."

"Aw, sugar." Her hand was gentle, ruffling the hair at the back of his head. "You don't hafta worry about that. You gotta trust that side of ya. He's just as protective of me as the rest of you is. He may be a little rougher, but he's not gonna hurt me. You don't have to keep pushin' him back so hard."

He rolled them so she was lying on his chest. He stroked her hair gently, considering her words. She spoke so easily of the duality of Logan and Wolverine, seemed to understand it even better than he did sometimes. But then again she'd lived with her own duality for years, it seemed. Even just now — the way she had fought, how boldly she had teased him — that had probably been more Rogue than Marie.

Finally she spoke again, her voice both tender and exasperated. "Logan, how're we gonna be together if you feel like you hafta keep hidin' part of yourself?"

He struggled for the words to argue but, as if sensing his intent, before he could speak she rolled off him, bouncing back to her feet.

"C'mon, sugar. I still haven't taken a real hit. That's what all of this was about, right?"

He knew what she was up to, but found himself on his feet anyway, still conflicted.

"Marie..." he warned.

She came in hard this time, putting her weight behind it, getting in under his reach. He tried to hold her, contain her, but she was quick.

He finally got her in a bear hug, her back pressed to his chest. Both of them were breathing in rough pants, his body aroused to the edge of pain by the feel of her, the scent of her. She knew exactly what she was doing, roughly rubbing against him, grinding into him through the soft denim. Every sensation was heightened by how close to the surface the animal had been lured — the scent of her a wave crashing over him, the feel of her an explosion through his lower belly.

She tilted her head, managing to lick a tantalizing swipe up his neck, making him groan. "C'mon, sugar. That the best you can do?"

He growled again, turning her in his hold, the animal inside him prowling ever closer to the surface, beckoned by her continued challenges and teasing. He took her mouth, pulling her hard into his body, his hands running up and down her the sweat-slicked skin of her back and thighs.

She broke his hold in moments, ducking out of his grasp, making him growl again. He could feel the Wolverine snarling and howling to be free, desperate to give her everything she was asking for. He clenched his fists, struggling for control, and watched her dark, knowing eyes hone in on the movement.

She moved in again, a flurry of kicks and punches. He got an elbow to his still-healing nose and that made him mad enough to try to end this. She wanted to take a real hit, so he would give her one. There was no way he would give her the full force of an adamantium fist but he grabbed her arm tight with his left hand while giving her a swift tap to the ribs with his right.

The pain of her mutation ripped through him instantly, searing every nerve and straining every tendon.

"Jesus, sugar — I'm sorry...are you okay?" The words came to his ears muffled, as if from a distance.

The pain had dropped him to his knees, but by the time she spoke he was already back on his feet. He felt the snap within himself, his mind starting to haze as the wildness in him broke free, lured by the sex and unleashed by the pain. She had managed to do accidentally what she had been trying to do deliberately. Logan would have known that her mutation was involuntary, defensive, but Wolverine only knew that his mate was rejecting him. Challenging him. And that challenge could not go unanswered.

He prowled around her, stalking her — no longer the man but a creature of pure instinct and emotion.

"Sugar?" she said somewhat uncertainly, but words meant nothing to him. He heard only the hesitation in her tone and grunted in satisfaction.

_Good. Alpha. Show her._

He could see the surprise in her eyes as he moved in swiftly, pulling her to the mat again and pinning her with his hips. He could hear her rapid breathing, smell her arousal, thick and delicious in the air around them.

She pushed her hips up into his. "Please, sugar," she said, her voice breathy. Her hands reached for him but he pulled them away, growling. He flipped her over onto her belly, pressing her down into the mat with his full weight, demanding her submission. She whimpered in frustration and the sound heated his blood.

_Marie. Mine. Lick her. Mark her._

He grazed her neck with his teeth, finding his mark with satisfaction. He sucked the skin hard, the taste of her exploding in his mouth, sweetness and sweat and desire. She wiggled underneath him and he nipped her with his teeth, a quick reminder of his dominance, and then soothed the hurt with his tongue. She was making soft, urgent noises, pushing back into him, and he bared his teeth in triumph.

_Mine. Smell her. Taste her._

His mouth moved on her, licking her salty skin, tracing the sweep of her spine as she trembled beneath him. When he got to the waistband of her shorts he pulled hard, stripping the shorts and panties from her body with one swift movement. He breathed in the scent of her, so lush and vivid it made his head spin.

_Wet. Wanting. Mine. Spread her. Take her._

She reached for him again and again he pushed her hands back to the mat with a growl. He pressed down on her shoulders and pulled up on her hindquarters until she was kneeling, bent over, ripe and ready. He yanked his jeans open and spread her knees wide with his, thrusting into her without hesitation. She threw her head back, arching into him, welcoming him.

He reared back and then thrust in again, hard and deep, almost howling in satisfaction at the feel of her, hot and wet and tight and his, his, only his.

_Mine. Inside her. Claim her. More. More._

He surrounded her, over and inside and all around her, sweat dripping from his chest as he pushed into her time and again, almost lifting her knees from the mat with the force of his thrusts. She had dropped her head now, the muscles of her arms and shoulders straining as she met each of his thrusts, her cries growing more urgent, her body clutching desperately at his.

_Mine. Mate. So good. Hot. Wet. Mine._

He bared his teeth in a snarl as he shook and strained above her, his hands gripping her hips tight. He felt it building and leaned down, teeth firm on the nape of her neck, curling his body around her as he pressed deep. He heard her cry of satisfaction, felt her body fluttering around his, and then he was coming hard, roaring his release into the skin of her neck, his teeth finding the tender junction of neck and shoulder and marking her anew.

_Mine._

He felt her grow soft and pliant against him, her body utterly relaxed. He held her hips up when she would have collapsed, churning into her a few final times, staking his claim. His scent on her skin, his mark on her body, his seed in her belly.  _His._

Then he gathered her up, taking her to the place that was soft and warm and smelled of them both, curling up with her in the soft nest, her head on his chest and his hand warm and possessive on her belly. He felt an unfamiliar sensation in his chest and realized he was purring, a soft, steady rumble.

His mate, eyes sleepy and satisfied, looked up at him and smiled.

* * *

[Please review! :-D]

 


	23. The Holiday

Marie parked the snowmobile in the garage. It had taken some convincing, but Logan had finally agreed to let her go on the grocery runs on her own. The snowmobile just couldn't handle the weight of both of them, and even though Logan was willing to slog through thigh-deep snow drifts so that she didn't have to go alone she refused to let him.

They'd have to get him a snowmobile of his own if they ended up staying out here, or in a place like it, she mused. She wondered if snowshoes or skis would spread his considerable weight enough to keep him from sinking through the drifts. In any case, on this particular run she was glad he hadn't accompanied her.

She carefully topped off the tank on the snowmobile, leaving the keys in the ignition. Then she fished through the grocery bags until she found what she was looking for.

_Good old Samuel,_  she thought as she unzipped her snowmobile jacket. She tucked the book into her jacket and zipped up again. She'd just have to get it upstairs and hide it before Logan got too handsy, she thought with a smile.

She filled her arms with the grocery bags and nudged open the door, stamping her feet free of snow.

"I'm back," she called out. "We got...oh!"

It was hard to figure out which was the prettier sight — the fir tree, still glistening with hints of snow that Logan had managed to sneak in and prop up with a rough-hewn stand, or the man himself, standing next to it looking so damn proud.

* * *

Marie snuggled back against Logan on the couch, alternating her gaze between the firelight, the Christmas tree, and the small wooden object she held cradled in her hands.

She had experienced many different kinds of Christmases in her life. The ones with her parents, centered around the midnight mass and her mother's showy holiday party, steeped in tradition and ritual but with very little warmth. The ones on the road, bitterly cold and alone, every wreath and casual holiday wish seeming to mock her isolation and despair. The bustle of Christmas at the mansion, Secret Santas and decorations, trying to show the newest kids — the ones with no homes to go back to — that they were  _not_  alone,  _not_ rejected. That their new family was here, and would not abandon them, even if their old one had.

And now she had a new kind of Christmas to file away, the memory of it destined to be brighter and warmer and happier than any of the others. Christmas with Logan.

_His shy pleasure at receiving gifts — the first in his memory, she realized. The way his hands smoothed the wrapping paper, fingers tracing the line of the ribbon before pulling them open with a very un-Logan-like enthusiasm. He liked the book on motorcycle repair, but his reaction to the other gift was beyond her expectations._

_She had almost decided against it — it seemed a little conceited after all, giving him a work of her own art as a gift. Not to mention he had seen it already, it was the one she would always associate with their meeting, the painting of the woods she had completed in those first few months here. Her fears had been unfounded, though. He pulled the wrapping paper from the canvas and then stood frozen for a moment before looking at her — wonder and a flicker of disbelief in his eyes._

" _For me?" he asked, seeking the confirmation of her nod before his eyes locked back on the painting, touching the very edge of the canvas reverently._

" _For us, maybe," she said, her voice unexpectedly raspy. "A promise never to sell it. We'll hang it...in our new place. Wherever that'll be."_

" _For us," he repeated under his breath. He looked the painting over for long moments before seeming to snap out of his daze. Then he propped it up against the wall, in the middle of the room where he could see it from all angles. His eyes were still glowing with pleasure as he reached into his pocket._

" _What's this?" she asked stupidly before drawing in a sharp breath in surprise._

" _It's a little rough," he mumbled. "Never done anythin' like that before, least not that I can remember..."_

_It was absolutely marvelous — a little wooden figure of a badger, fitting perfectly into the hollow of her hand. He was rolling on his back, tiny feet bicycling in the air, just as they had seen him. Logan had captured him perfectly, carving him out of pale wood and staining sections of it darker to reproduce the charming little black-and-white face._

" _You made this?" she asked in astonishment. "For me?"_

_He smiled shyly. "I call 'im Frances."_

_She laughed, even as tears prickled in her eyes. "After Frances in my book? I can't believe you remembered."_

_His arms wrapped around her, warm and comforting. "'Course I remembered." His voice was suddenly raspy too. "They may have taken everythin' I knew before, but I plan to remember every little thing about this time — about you — for the rest of my life, darlin'."_

Her vision blurred a little just remembering it, and she blinked rapidly to chase the tears away. She turned on her side, snuggling even closer into Logan's chest, keeping the badger cupped in one hand while the other dipped in between the buttons of his flannel shirt, tickling his chest.

He made that deep, purring sound again, and she smothered a giggle as it tickled her cheek. He had been doing that pretty frequently since their first sparring session, when he had finally let the Wolverine free. He had seemed more relaxed in general since that day, something in him easing. He wasn't totally comfortable with it yet — the door in her mind to Wolverine still remained solidly locked — but maybe he was getting there.

She nuzzled her cheek into him, her eyes drifting back to the Christmas tree.

_She had found some colored paper and tinfoil, and cut out a few stars and other shapes for decoration. Logan sat next to her, watching indulgently. Neither of them even realized he was fidgeting with a piece of paper of his own until he looked down, dropping with startlement the tiny folded crane._

" _Origami," she breathed. "Did you know you could do that?" He shook his head, hesitating briefly before reaching for another piece of paper. They both watched in silent wonder as his hands seemed to move of their volition, creating a flower, a boat, a little pig._

" _Huh," he said, looking down at the folded paper objects, so tiny and delicate in his incongruently large hands._

She listened to the rumble of his purr for a few more moments before tracing her hand up from his chest, running it down his arm to his hand. She squeezed his hand in hers. These hands of his — such a contradiction. Capable of unleashing fury with metal claws or delicately carving her little badger. So large and strong but amazingly deft, able to wield an axe or create tiny wonders from folded paper with equal ease. And the way those hands moved on her body, the things that they made her feel...

She traced her fingernails between his knuckles, feeling his immediate shiver in response.

"Time for bed?" he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"Time for bed," she agreed. Time to make some new memories.

_Best. Christmas. Ever._  she thought dazedly as he carried her up the stairs, before he kissed her and all of her thoughts flew away.

* * *

She woke up in the middle of the night to Logan slipping out of bed.

"What is it, sugar?" she murmured sleepily.

"Heard a noise," he answered softly. "Gonna check it out." His hand brushed her cheek gently. "Go back to sleep, darlin'. I'll be back in a minute."

She closed her eyes and let herself drift back into slumber.

She awoke again, shivering. She reached out for Logan — he was always so warm — but the other side of the bed was empty. She squinted at the clock. It was four in the morning. She wasn't sure what time he had left, but it seemed like hours ago.

She got to her feet, padding toward the stairs. She thought she heard voices and froze for a minute. As she listened, however, she realized it was just Logan's voice. She couldn't make out the words but he sounded angry.

She moved to toward the railing of the loft bedroom. The wood floor creaked beneath her feet, and his voice stopped.

She looked over the rail. He was sitting on the couch, still fully dressed. His golden eyes were focused on her but his face was impassive.

"You okay, sugar?" she asked.

He looked at her blankly for a moment, and then seemed to snap out of it, rubbing a hand across his face tiredly. "Yeah, I'm fine. Can't sleep, figured I'd be better off down here than keepin' you up."

"Well, c'mon up, sugar. You won't bother me."

He looked away from her, his jaw tense. "Nah, I think I'm up for good. You go on back to sleep. I'll stay down here."

_Another nightmare?_ she wondered.  _A memory?_ Either way, he seemed more rattled than he had been in awhile. She had never heard him talking to himself before.

"You're sure?" she said hesitantly.

He sighed heavily. "Yeah. Go on. Get some more sleep."

She hesitated for a moment more, but maybe he just needed some more time alone. She went back to bed, burrowing under the covers, feeling only coldness where his warmth usually was.

* * *

[Please review! :-D]

 


	24. The Walk

He was still on the couch when she came down in the morning, half-stumbling down the stairs, stifling a yawn. She had dozed off and on, unable to sleep soundly without him beside her. Her head still felt a little fuzzy.

She waited until the coffee was brewed and ready, fixing hers up and bringing a cup for him as well. She sat next to him on the couch, setting his coffee on the table in front of him before curling her legs up and gratefully sipping her own.

He grunted in appreciation for the coffee. He stared morosely into his cup, his body still taut with tension, his expression brooding. She ached to reach out and touch him, but something about his posture told her it would be unwelcome.

"Wanna talk about it, sugar?" she finally asked.

"No," he said curtly, and she flinched a little at his tone. He met her eyes for the first time, and sighed. "I'm sorry. I just...I need a little time to myself, okay?"

"Sure." She felt torn between concern and irritation. After everything they had shared, he still was going to shut her out like this when he got upset?

She took a deep breath, trying to push aside her own hurt feelings and annoyance. Maybe he just needed time to sort through whatever it was on his own before he talked to her. Logan had lived such a solitary life before they met, he was probably used to dealing with things on his own. Smothering him wouldn't help. After all, they had been in this cabin for months, with only each other for company — maybe he was just getting a little stir-crazy.

"I'm gonna take a walk," he said, as if he had read her mind.

"Okay. Stay warm sugar."

He pulled on his coat and gloves and left without another word. She shrugged mentally and got started on breakfast. Hopefully he would work it out of his system.

Her breakfast dishes had long since been cleared by the time he returned from his walk, caked with snow. He seemed a little calmer — still quiet, but less tense. She thought that maybe the fresh air had done him good.

She tried to keep herself busy and out of his way, doing record amounts of laundry and making sure the kitchen sparkled. By lunchtime they were able to eat in relatively companionable silence.

Then she decided to paint, while he settled in to read. Her easel was already set up, and she started to unpack her brushes. She frowned for a moment, peering into the interior of her leather satchel. She always packed it carefully, the palette flat against the side and the brushes in the elastic bands she had sewn into the other side, boxes of her lesser-used charcoals on the bottom and her tubes of acrylics and oils on top. Now the charcoals were on top and a few brushes were rolling around in the bottom of the bag.

"Logan, were you messin' with my paint stuff?" she asked distractedly.

"Why in the hell would I do that?" he snapped.

She closed her eyes in frustration. She had forgotten for a moment the mood he was in. "Just wonderin', things seemed a little messed up in here."

His jaw ticked with tension. "I tripped over that damn bag of yours. You should be more careful where you leave your shit."

She drew in her breath in surprise, her pulse speeding in anger. "Logan, what the  _hell_  has gotten into you? If you're worried, or stressed or somethin'  _talk_  to me, sugar, let me help. Don't act like this."

His golden eyes were cold, his body hunched with tension. "Just quit fuckin'  _naggin'_  me, all right? That's what'll help."

She was beyond furious. "You need some 'alone time'? You got it. Just stay the hell away from me until you're ready to talk about this like a grown-up."

"Fine with me," he replied, his voice sullen.

She went up to the bedroom, just barely resisting the urge to stomp up the stairs, her eyes prickling with angry tears. She stayed up there through dinner, her appetite gone.  _Not that he seemed to worry about her_ , she thought bitterly. That night she went to bed alone, staring at the ceiling and feeling as cold inside as she was outside without his warmth next to her.

* * *

_She was in the clearing, painting. It was late fall, and Logan was standing beside her, looking at her with warmth and affection in his golden gaze. Joy and relief flooded her heart. She reached for him, but he was suddenly a few steps away, nothing but empty space where he had been._

" _Logan?" she said._

_She hadn't seen him move but now he was even further, by the chopping block._

" _Marie," he said, but his voice was cold and distant._

" _Logan!" She started to run towards him but stopped as he disappeared again. She turned in a circle, searching the trees. She thought she saw a glimpse of him, standing amongst the tree trunks._

" _Logan!" she called again, but he was gone._

_She was suddenly back in her bedroom at the mansion, Bobby hovering uncertainly in the doorway. She hugged her pillow to her chest, curling her knees up._

" _He left me," she told Bobby. "I'm alone again."_

_His ice-blue eyes were sympathetic in his handsome face. "Of course you are, Rogue," he said gently. "It was never about your skin. It was always_ _ you _ _."_

_She buried her face in her pillow. "Don't say that," she mumbled. "It's not true."_

" _Of course it is, Anna Marie." She lifted her head in surprise at hearing her mother's voice._

_She was in her bedroom in Meridian now. Her mother was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at her sternly. She looked over her mother's shoulder to where her father was standing, his back to her, roughly shoving some of her clothes into his old Army duffel bag._

" _Daddy?" she said hesitantly. She could tell he heard her, could see the new tension in his shoulders, but he didn't turn around. He didn't even pause as he moved to the next drawer, cramming the top few items of clothing into the bag._

" _Don't sulk, Anna Marie," her mother said sharply. "You had to know this was coming." She got up and moved to the foot of the bed, picking up the quilt that was lying in a jumble on the floor. Marie realized that it had fallen when the paramedics had pulled Cody, still seizing, off her bed._

" _Is Cody okay?" she heard herself asking._

" _He's fine, Anna Marie," her mother said, folding the quilt and laying it carefully across the foot of the bed. She smoothed it out with her hand. "You're the one who's broken."_

" _I'm not broken!" Marie cried, hating the teenage whine she heard in her own voice. She looked down at her hands. "I'm not," she mumbled._

" _Yes you are, Anna Marie," her mother said, her voice flat and emotionless. "Just look." She gestured to the dresser mirror. Marie saw herself reflected there. She was sixteen again, her hair a solid auburn with no trace of white, the map with her route to Alaska pinned to the wall behind her._

_As she looked, she saw fine lines blooming across her forehead. No, not lines. Cracks. she pressed her palm to her forehead but it was no help. The cracks slowly spread down her face and neck. She looked down in horror as the skin of her arm cracked like a porcelain doll._

" _Help me, Mama." Her mother shook her head pityingly. "Daddy, help me!" she cried through cracking lips, but it was no use. Her father doggedly continued packing the duffel bag as she shattered, falling to pieces._

* * *

Marie woke with a start, her whole body shaking, her gut churning with nausea. She lifted a hand to her face to find her cheeks wet with tears. She curled up in the bed, feeling miserable.

This was ridiculous. It was just a fight. All couples fought from time to time — living in a mansion filled with interpersonal drama had certainly taught her that. There had to be some way they could fix this. Logan loved her, she knew he did. That's not something that just goes away.  _Or does it?_ a small voice in her head inquired.  _Did your Mama and Daddy never love you, or did they just stop when you became a mutant?_

"I'm not broken," she mumbled to herself, but even to her own ears the words sounded unconvincing.

It was still early in the morning, but she forced herself out of bed and into the shower. She felt a little better after she had showered and dressed. She would go downstairs and talk to Logan, and they would work this out. They had to.

He was asleep on the couch when she came downstairs. She started the coffee and then sat in the big leather chair, watching him. He looked even rougher than she felt — his cheeks shaded with a short beard instead of his usual stubble, dark circles under his eyes that she would have thought a healing factor would prevent. Her heart twisted. She didn't know why he was acting this way, but he was obviously in pain.

His body twitched restlessly, his brow furrowed. A low growl burst from him and then he was startling awake, panic in his eyes. Her body trembled with the effort it took not to go to him, but she sat still, waiting for him to calm. His darting eyes landed on her and he took a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his face before sinking back onto the couch.

"Hey, sugar," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Coffee?"

He nodded and she went to the kitchen to fix both their mugs. She stared down into the dark coffee as she spooned the sugar in.  _Just come up behind me like you used to, Logan_ , she wished fervently.  _Wrap your arms around me and bury your face in my neck, tickling me with your stubble like you always do when I'm making us coffee. Make everything all right again._ But when she raised her head he was still on the couch, his head in his hands.

She put his coffee on the table in front of him and then sat back in the chair, curling her feet up underneath her. They both sipped in silence for awhile.

"Are we gonna be okay, Logan?" she finally asked, her voice raspy with the tears she was trying to contain.

He looked up in surprise. Then he smiled. Not the usual almost-reluctant quirk of his mouth, but a toothy smile that looked completely insincere on his face. "Of course we are." He sat up straighter, taking a big gulp of his coffee. "I'm sorry I've been so moody lately. I've got a lot on my mind."

She suppressed the shiver of uneasiness that smile had caused. At least he was making an effort, even if it was superficial. "Like  _what_ , Logan? Can't you tell me?"

His eyes shifted back to his coffee. "I was thinking about leavin' here as soon as the road becomes passable."

She felt her heart lurch in her chest. "Leavin'  _here_? Or leavin'  _me_?" she asked frozenly.

"Us leavin' together." His eyes looked into hers, suddenly sharp and watchful. "Maybe see that friend of yours, Xavier."

She felt like her mind was tumbling, relief and confusion fighting for dominance. "Sugar, I'd love it if we could go back to the mansion together, but why now? Is whatever's goin' on with you somethin' you think the Professor can help you with?"

He leaned forward, suddenly eager. "Yeah. I think that he could. He's this amazing telepath, right? Maybe that's just what I need."

She found herself instinctively leaning away from him, the hair on the back of her neck prickling with unfocused apprehension. "Is somethin' goin' on with your memories, Logan? Are the blocks breakin' down?"

His face pinched with annoyance. "I told you I don't wanna talk about it. If you want to help me, just take me to Xavier."

She stood up suddenly, her whole body restless with nervous energy. She opened and closed her fists, jittery with apprehension. She needed to clear her head. She went back into the kitchen, shoving a few granola bars in her pocket. Then she grabbed her boots and sat back in the chair, pulling them on.

"What are you doin'?" he asked.

"Goin' for a walk," she said shortly.

She grabbed her jacket and pulled it on.

"Wait." His hand was on her arm, holding her back. She wheeled around, blinking tears from her eyes.

"It's miserable out there," he said. "If you need some time alone, I'll go out."

"I can handle it," she snapped. She turned to go and his hand tightened almost painfully on her arm.

She felt her rollercoaster emotions tipping again, icy fury rushing through her veins. "We both know I can hurt you if I want to, sugar," she said coldly. "You wanna let me go before that happens?"

She saw the thoughts ticking through his eyes before he finally loosened his grip, letting her go.

"Suit yourself," he said sullenly.

She slammed out the door, stumbling down the icy porch steps. The snow was knee-deep and she hadn't dressed appropriately, but she welcomed the distraction of the icy sting on her legs. The day was clear and bright and she took a deep breath, feeling the frigid air fill her lungs, bracing her.

She started walking, no destination in mind. The snow around the house was almost completely muddled, she realized. Logan must have paced all around here. She walked blindly into the forest, the occasional breeze whipping her hair around her face.

She couldn't make sense of Logan's sudden wish to seek out Xavier. Was something happening to his mind? She could imagine that freaking him out, making him moody, but why couldn't he talk to her about it? Of all the people who would understand what it would be like to deal with mental barriers...

She took another step and stumbled as her foot sank deeper than she expected. She fell forward hard on her hands and knees. Dammit, there must be a ditch here. She scrabbled to her feet in aggravation, a twig cracking under her boot. She wiped her hands off on the front of her jeans, and then suddenly her world fell apart.

From the corner of her eye she saw what had cracked under her boot, and it wasn't a twig. It was a finger, bent grotesquely back now from the rest of the frozen hand that her movements had unburied from the snowy grave.

* * *

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	25. The Body

She stood for a moment staring down at the macabre sight, paralyzed by shock. Then she dropped to her knees and started to dig, her frozen hands scooping up the slushy snow, slowly uncovering the corpse.

She shuddered as she brushed the snow off of the man's face. It was no one she recognized — a forty-ish looking man, dressed in jeans and a shirt under a partially-zipped down jacket. Swallowing down her nausea, Marie forced herself to take a deep breath. She had to know. She unzipped the man's jacket all the way, pulling up the shirt and looking for claw marks on the body.

Grunting with effort, she heaved the frozen corpse onto its side and checked his back. She pulled his wallet out of his pants pocket before pushing him back over, feeling his neck. Then, with a cringe of distaste, she blew on her thumb to warm it and pressed it to his frozen eyelid, thawing it until she could lift it enough to see the white of his eye.

She finally sat back, relief warring with confusion.  _Nothing_. Not just no sign of Logan's claws, but no sign of  _any_  injury. No bleeding, no broken neck, no bruises, not even hemorrhaging in the whites of his eyes. If it wasn't so unlikely she would have thought that the man had just lain down in the ditch and died of hypothermia.

She kneeled in the snow, blowing more warmth onto her numb fingers for a moment to get the feeling back into them before looking through the man's wallet. Identification, credit cards, receipts, money, a few family photos, business cards. Everything seemed intact, and everything seemed normal. Nothing to indicate that the man was any more than he seemed — Mark McCready, a bank manager from Pittsburgh. She looked through the receipts. Normal everyday purchases, and then a few gas and toll receipts from two days ago. Christmas Day.

She put everything back in the wallet and put it back in the man's pocket. Thinking furiously, she started to cover the body back up with snow.

_Christmas Day_. Something had made this apparently ordinary man, a family man, get in his car and drive from Pittsburgh to the Adirondack mountains on Christmas Day. Made him park wherever the plowed roads ended, and make his way on foot to this point, apparently without any gear or supplies. And then something had killed him.

_No, not something_ , she acknowledged.  _Someone_. As much as she would like to believe that this man had walked himself out here and suddenly died of exposure, she would be kidding herself. He had been buried deep, beneath much more snow than had fallen over the last two days.

She couldn't tell herself it was a coincidence. Logan had gone out that night, Christmas night, and hadn't been the same since. Had he met this man — maybe even killed him? But if so how, and even more importantly  _why_? If it had been an accident, or self-defense, or even an overreaction to someone snooping around their cabin, wouldn't the man bear the mark of his claws? And why wouldn't he just tell her about it? Why hide the body and pretend nothing had happened?

The man she loved had been able to tell her difficult things. Had even told her about killing someone innocent — that woman he had killed in front of her child. And god help her, but if he had told her she would have understood, would have forgiven him just about anything.

Now she didn't know if that man even existed any more. The way Logan had been acting lately — he was not just upset or out of sorts, but completely unlike the man she knew and loved. She felt something inside her grow still and cold as she finally acknowledged what she had been feeling all this time. The man in the cabin right now — she didn't love him. She didn't trust him. She feared him.

The body was completely covered again. Marie took the pocketknife she kept in her jacket and cut a branch from a nearby fir tree. She swiped at the snow with the branch, smoothing it out, following her tracks backward. It wasn't perfect, but if fresh snow fell it should be good enough to cover her tracks.

When she got to the edge of the woods she muddied her trail, creating several false starts, just in case. Finally, she crept cautiously towards the cabin. She opened the garage door slowly and carefully, cringing at every rumble. She had one leg over the snowmobile before she noticed it.

"Motherfucker."

The keys were gone. With a sinking feeling she looked at the gas gauge. Empty. She always left the snowmobile ready, topping off the tank and leaving the keys in the ignition in case of an emergency.  _Always_. Scott had drilled that kind of readiness into her head until it was second nature. Already knowing what she would find, she walked over to where the extra gas containers were stored. The shelf was bare, only the dusty outlines of the gas containers remaining.

She took a deep breath, fighting back the rush of panic. She slowly closed the garage door as quietly as she could. Then she pushed the door between the garage and the cabin open just a crack. She didn't see him.

She stood for a moment, wondering if she should take off her boots. She would be more silent in her socks, but she wanted to stay ready for anything.  _Ready for what?_  she asked herself.  _To run away from Logan? To fight him? Was she really thinking along those lines?_ She realized she was. She left the boots on.

She moved quietly through the kitchen. She could see his head resting on the arm of the couch, but from this angle she couldn't tell if he was sleeping or not. She slid silently past him and then up the stairs, her heart pounding in her chest, every muscle in her body clenched with tension.

By the time she reached the top of the stairs she couldn't stand it any more. She glanced back down, and then breathed out in relief. He was still on the couch, apparently sleeping. She moved quickly into the bedroom loft, yanking open the drawer to her side table.

She sat down heavily on the bed, her knees weak, staring into the drawer. The satellite phone was gone, as were the keys to the Jeep. Only a few odds and ends remained.

"I didn't hear you come back." His deep voice startled her, and she flinched. She tried to compose her face before turning around.

"I tried to be quiet. It looked like you needed the rest, sugar."

He leaned against the wall at the entrance to the bedroom, his eyes shifting between her face and the drawer. "Lookin' for somethin'?"

She reached into the drawer. "My comb. It's windy out there." She stood up, trying to keep her posture relaxed. "I'm frozen. I'm gonna take a hot bath." She shed her jacket and pulled off her sweater and shirt, trying to seem unaffected by his presence while exposing a maximum amount of skin. She reached for her mutation, feeling it stutter to life as she casually ran the comb through her hair.

She would have to walk within his reach to get to the bathroom. She didn't allow herself to hesitate. She rounded the bed, feeling every hair on the back of her neck stand up as she passed him. She wondered if he could hear her heart pounding, smell her fear.

She plugged up the tub and started the water running, setting her foot up on the tub and unlacing her boot.

He was still watching her as she pulled her second boot off. Finally he seemed to make up his mind. He smiled that insincere smile again. "Okay. I'll make us somethin' special for lunch. You just relax, all right?"

She smiled back. "Thanks, sugar."

He started down the stairs and she closed the bathroom door with a trembling hand. She sat on the edge of the tub, listening to the water run, her thoughts racing.

No phone. No Jeep. No snowmobile. She tried to push aside the panic that was welling up inside her at the thought that this cabin, her sanctuary, had suddenly become her prison.

She tried to make a logical assessment of the situation. Even if she could hotwire the snowmobile it was useless without fuel, and he could have hidden the fuel anywhere. The Jeep wouldn't make it through the snow even if she could hotwire that. So, she was well and truly trapped here with him unless she went on foot. It was only half an hour or so on foot to the grocery drop, even in deep snow, but she wasn't sure if that road was plowed or if Samuel was coming by snowmobile as well. Even if it was plowed, no one would be using it except Samuel, and the next grocery drop wasn't for four days.

Logan was stronger than her, and faster. But she had two very formidable weapons. Her mutation, which could drop him if necessary — maybe even kill him. And Magneto's power — control over his very metal-laced bones. If it came down to it, she would use them both.

She really was frozen, inside and out. She pulled off her socks and soaked jeans, using a washcloth to trickle the warm water over her legs. She could leave tonight. If they slept apart again — and she would make damn sure they did — she might get enough of a head start before he realized she was gone. In the meantime she just had to play it cool. Pretend that everything was okay. She wasn't sure if she could pull it off.

She had probably delayed enough. She toweled her legs off, dampening her face with the washcloth as well so she looked like she had taken a bath. She dressed, leaving the sleeves of her shirt rolled up to expose more skin.

"Honey? Lunch is ready," he called from downstairs.

"Be right there," she called in return, trying to keep her voice light and cheery.

She turned to the mirror to check her appearance, hoping she looked calmer than she felt, and then suddenly froze. She felt her world tilt on its axis again, her stomach flipping and her heart thumping as his words replayed in her head.

_Honey_. She hated it when people called her honey, ever since that truck driver who had picked her up in West Virginia. It set her teeth on edge.

He had never called her that before, she was sure of it.  _Darlin'_  always, as naturally as breathing to him.  _Baby_  sometimes, but never, ever,  _honey_. She sat back on the bed again, staring into space, furiously trying to remember every detail of the past few days. Since his behavior had changed, he had never once called her darlin'. Never even said her name in that way he had that made warmth rush through her. She had thought it was just because he was out of sorts, but now...

She felt a slow, creeping fury starting to supplant her fear. She gathered her courage and went downstairs.

He had pulled out the dining table, carelessly casting aside her exercise mats. They had never eaten there before, but he had laid it out with two place settings. She felt like she was going crazy. It was like an optical illusion — a few hours ago she would have thought that it was just Logan, trying to make a special effort to make up for how moody he had been. Now, looking at it with new eyes, it just amplified that voice inside her. The voice telling her that she didn't know who this man was, but she knew one thing:  _Not Logan, not Logan, not Logan..._

She sat down and picked up her fork. "This looks great, sugar."

"Thanks, honey." He took a few bites, his eyes on her, his expression neutral. "How was your walk?"

"It's cold out there, but it was good to get out. I can understand if you're gettin' a little stir-crazy, shut up in here with me, sugar. I think it's a good idea to get back to the mansion when we can."

"That's great." He smiled, and she forced herself to smile back. "I think Xavier will be a real big help to me. I can't wait to meet him."

_Now or never_ , she thought.

"Maybe we can stop by on the way and meet your friend Gus? You must miss him," she asked casually.

"Gus?" For a moment he seemed confused, and she tensed, readying herself. "His place is all the way up by Ottawa, honey. First place I ran across after breakin' out. That'd be completely the wrong direction. But we can take a trip up there some time if you want."

"Oh." She took another bite or two, her mind roiling with doubts. Maybe she was being crazy. Just being paranoid. But she thought of the snowmobile, and the phone, and...

"If you don't mind I'd like to make a stop in town," she said. "Scott and Jeannie must've had their baby by now, we can't show up without a gift. Do you think there's a bookstore? There was this book when I was a kid, it was my favorite. About an elephant named Charlie. It'd be kinda fun to get the same one for little baby Summers, ya know?"

"That's a good idea. I don't know if there's a bookstore in town, but we'll find one along the way."

She clenched her fists under the table, forcing a smile. "My sister and I used to fight over that book like nobody's business. That's always the way, ain't it? You each gotta have what the other one wants."

He grunted. "You could always get two. In case they have another kid later on."

"That's smart thinkin', sugar." She managed to drain her water glass. "Want a beer while I'm up?"

"Yeah. Thanks, honey."

She moved toward the fridge. She poured herself some more water, reaching for Magneto's mutation. She felt the metal in the room sing to life. The refrigerator, the cutlery in the drawers, and...

_Shit_. She could feel it — the clear sweet note of adamantium lacing his bones. Not a shifter, then, no one could replicate that. What did it mean? She felt the cold fury washing over her. Whatever had happened, she would damn well find out.

She yanked him out of his chair by the metal in his bones, dropping him to the floor. In a flash, she was over him, a knife held to his throat.

"Who are you?" she hissed. "Where is Logan?"

"What do you mean? Quit actin' crazy..."

" _Don't fuck with me_. That's not my favorite book and I sure as hell don't have a sister. Now tell me what you've done to him or I start slicing."

His golden eyes bored into hers for a long moment, and then suddenly he relaxed, smiling.

"I'll admit, lass, I dinna see that one comin'." His entire demeanor had changed, his accent changing to a broad brogue. "But what would'ye be plannin' on doin' wi' that knife? The mon heals, aye? So what harm d'ye ken ye can do me?"

* * *

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	26. The Chrysalis

The girl crouched over him, so close the fall of her hair brushed his face as she balanced the edge of the knife a hair's breadth from his throat.

" _Don't fuck with me_. That's not my favorite book and I sure as hell don't have a sister. Now tell me what you've done to him or I start slicing."

He looked into her snapping brown eyes. She was quite the spitfire, wasn't she? He tentatively tested the force holding him to the floor. Interesting, he could breathe and talk, but he couldn't move his limbs an inch. Was this her mutation then — telekinesis? Regardless, she seemed to have thoroughly found him out. For all the good that it would do her. He relaxed, smiling.

"I'll admit, lass, I dinna see that one comin'. But what would'ye be plannin' on doin' wi' that knife? The mon heals, aye? So what harm d'ye ken ye can do me?"

"Where is he?" the girl ground out.

"He's right here wi' me, lass, although I'm in control, an' will be stayin' in control. An' I'm sorry to say but you willna be talkin' to him ever again."

She stared at him, her brown eyes flashing green for a moment. Odd, that, but he was distracted by the edge of the blade as it pressed against his skin. He hissed in a pained breath as a stinging cut opened up.

"I'll give ye this, lass, he fought hard — harder than any of the others, and there have been  _many_  others. He even managed to keep some of his memories locked away from me — all his memories of you, lass. I dinna ken how he managed it, but I have to admire it. It has made foolin' ye hard enow for this long. All the same, lass, this body — this bluidy marvelous healin' body — is mine now, an' I willna be lettin' it go for any reason."

Her hand was trembling, and he breathed slowly and shallowly as the knife cut deeper. He could feel the trickle of blood down his neck.

"I hear you," she said in a shaky voice. "But why bother tryin' to fool me? Why didn't you jus' kill me? You had more than enough chances. " Her voice thickened with tears. "Why pretend to be  _him_?"

"He was able to keep his memories of you locked away, but no' his own. The mon doesna know Xavier, does he now? But you do. You must, to be here in his cabin. It isna easy to sneak up on a telepath, but from everything I've heard of the mon Xavier willna scan a trusted friend of one of his little darlings, now will he? Too many scruples. You were to take me to him. But ye can be sure that I am no' silly enow to think that ye will do it now."

He tried to lunge at her, to get close enough to touch her, but the force pinning him was unshakeable — he had barely twitched. It was enough to spook her, though, and she flinched back. He saw her struggling to maintain her composure, her grip shifting uneasily on the knife.

"What do you want with Professor Xavier?"

"Why, I want to kill him, of course." Her eyes widened, and he grinned. He was rather enjoying this, telling her what he was going to do, knowing she was helpless to stop it. "He lives in that mansion, wi' all those bairns, an' I will wager ye that he hasna mentioned havin' a bairn of his own, has he now?"

He read the truth in her eyes. He could feel his facade of nonchalance slipping as the ever-present rage burned hotter in his chest. "David Xavier was my name, but he didna claim me, did he? Let my mother lock me up in her island prison, an' dinna say a word about me to anyone. For that I owe him a debt, and I mean to repay it. Planned to see him squealing at the end of my dirk, but these claws your mon gave me will do the job just as well."

He watched her as she took it in. "You're...you're Xavier's  _son_?"

He felt a rush of euphoria pass through him. She couldn't be more wrong. David Xavier was a lonely Scots boy. Mutant X was an angry, frustrated test subject, interred in a Muir Island cell, surrounded by energy fields. Now he had shed those names, those identities, as effortlessly as he had shed the burned-out bodies of those he had possessed in the seven months since gaining his freedom from that island prison.

"No, lass. Not anymore. I am Proteus now. I am reborn. An' this miraculous body is my chrysalis."

He could see her — still searching his eyes, searching his face, for some sign of the other man. She would not find it, and he saw the realization, the finality of it, shadow her expression.

"What do you want me to do?" she finally asked.

He smiled reassuringly. "Easy, lass. Let me go. I willna harm you. Ye will have to do it soon enow. This body dinna need sleep, but ye will. Ye canna hold me here forever."

She shook her head. She seemed to find some hidden depths of resilience, her voice growing steely with determination. "I won't let you have him."

"What do ye think ye might do then, lass? Hurt me? I promise ye, he's here wi' me, and he'll feel every minute of it. Ask yourself, lass, are ye willin' to torture your mon as well as me? An' for what reason? This body canna be hurt for long. It will heal. I've never found one like this _—_  a body that willna burn up, one that I can keep. An' I am verra sure that I willna be leavin' it no matter how much pain you cause us both."

He saw her grappling with the decision. He was content to watch her, already knowing what the outcome would be.

The man had struggled mightily to remain in control, and had accomplished something no one else he had possessed had ever managed. To protect her by hiding his memories of her away, even inside his own mind? He must love her beyond belief, and if she felt even a fraction of that in return, she would not be able to inflict pain on him.

For all her telekinesis, she was a woman, and therefore weak at heart. And he was strong. Had been stronger than anyone else he had encountered since gaining his freedom, and now, in this healing body, he was more than that. He was unstoppable. Invulnerable. _Immortal_.

"I love you, Logan," she said. "An' I trust you. Like you gotta trust me. I'm sorry, sugar."

He saw her eyes mist with tears as she moved away from him. He smiled in triumph, just before pain exploded through his skull and he fell into blackness.

* * *

He awoke to a pounding headache, the room spinning dizzily around him. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, groaning.

Goddammit. The girl was making a run for it. He hadn't thought she had it in her.

He laboriously pulled himself to his feet, bile rising bitter in his throat. He stumbled into the bathroom. He grimaced as he saw himself. His head was soaked with blood, ragged pieces of scalp knitting slowly together. He watched as a piece of his skull appeared to pop back into place under the skin. Disgusting.

He soaked a hand towel and rubbed the worst of the blood off his face. It would have to do. From the slant of the light through the windows it would be dusk soon. She must have gotten a couple of hours of head start.

"Not good enow, lass," he said to himself. He pulled on a coat and made for the spot in the woods where he had stashed the fuel for the snowmobile.

* * *

He caught up with her in a small clearing. She had apparently stopped in place when she heard the snowmobile coming. She was facing him now, her hair flying behind her like a dark banner.

He stopped the snowmobile a few feet away and jumped off.

"Ye ken that I canna let you go, lass," he told her.

She nodded. She looked numb, defeated, her eyes deep brown pools in her pale face. She backed a few steps away and he followed her.

Suddenly there was a loud crack and the ground tilted beneath his feet. He crashed to his hands and knees in the snow.

"What the..." Under his feet, ice was cracking from the strain of his weight. The girl no longer looked defeated. Her eyes were intent now, fiery. She held out her hand and a flash of light flew from it, exploding in a paff under his feet, making the chunk of ice he was balancing on shift precariously.

"Let him go," she hissed. "Or I drop you both into the water."

He looked up at her, every muscle tensed trying to keep his balance. "This body is invulnerable. Think I fear gettin' a wee bit wet, lass?"

"Show him, Logan."

He furrowed his brow, puzzled. He could sense the other man, the one he had suppressed, the anger and reluctance radiating from him palpable. "What do you..."

"Show him!" she barked, and his fingers dug into the snow-covered ice as the memory overwhelmed him.

_The snow was past his knees, hampering his movements and making every few yards seem like a mile. He shivered again as the chill seemed to seep out from inside his very bones, the metal in his body making warmth seem like a distant memory. He followed the animal tracks, looking for their burrow. If only he could scamper across the crust of snow like the snowshoe hares he was tracking, instead of suffering the crushing weight of this damned metal skeleton._

_The next step had him suddenly sinking past his waist. Damn it, the ruffled wind-swept snow had hidden a depression in the ground. He rarely ranged out this far, and didn't know the terrain as well as he should. He should be careful..._

_Just as he thought it, he heard an ominous cracking underneath his feet. He made a desperate lunge, but to no avail. He was plunging down, down, into the freezing water. He pushed against the bottom, trying frantically to boost his heavy body up to the surface. His head clunked hard against the sheet of ice. He had drifted from where he fell through. He snapped the claws, trying to dig them into the ice to stop himself from sinking again, but they slid free and he felt himself sinking downward again._

_He could no longer hold his breath. He felt the cold water rush into his lungs, choking him, and he struggled frantically, uselessly, his body jerking back and forth in the water. And then a few moments later he was no longer cold. He suddenly felt comfortable and warm. He stopped struggling, and let himself settle back to the bottom. If this is dying it ain't so bad, he thought, and then the blackness took him._

He raised his head as the memory faded, cold certainty settling into his gut. She would do this, sink him here and leave him in a frozen grave. Muster who knows what help to contain him by the time he thawed. He imagined waking up to his cell at Muir Island again, surrounded by energy fields.

He would not stand for it. Never again. He leaped for her, landing on the ice in front of her. He skidded into her, knocking them both to the ground. He would burn her up and be back inside the healing man in under a minute.

"I am Proteus, lass. I have killed more than a hundred people in the last few months alone. Did ye really think ye could stop me all on your own?" He pressed his hand to her face, watching her eyes glaze over as he poured himself into her.

* * *

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	27. The Mistake

He leaped for her, landing on the ice in front of her. He skidded into her, knocking them both to the ground. He would burn her up and be back inside the healing man in under a minute.

"I am Proteus, lass. I have killed more than a hundred people in the last few months alone. Did ye really think ye could stop me all on your own?" He pressed his hand to her face, watching her eyes glaze over as he poured himself into her.

* * *

THREE HOURS EARLIER

Marie crouched over him, holding the knife just a hair's breadth from his throat.

"Who are you?" she hissed. "Where is Logan?"

"What do you mean? Quit actin' crazy..."

" _Don't fuck with me_. That's not my favorite book and I sure as hell don't have a sister. Now tell me what you've done to him or I start slicing."

His golden eyes bored into hers for a long moment, and then suddenly he relaxed, smiling.

"I'll admit, lass, I dinna see that one comin'." His entire demeanor had changed, his accent changing to a broad brogue. "But what would'ye be plannin' on doin' wi' that knife? The mon heals, aye? So what harm d'ye ken ye can do me?"

"Where is he?" she ground out.

"He's right here wi' me, lass, although I'm in control, an' will be stayin' in control. An' I'm sorry to say but you willna be talkin' to him ever again."

She stared at him, her heart thumping wildly. Logan was still alive in there, somewhere. There was hope. She reached deep inside herself, sprinting through the hallways of her mind in record time, throwing open the door to access Jean's power. She heard the thoughts of the stranger, wondering about the flash of green in her eyes, and she pushed the knife harder into his neck to distract him. As he hissed in pain she reached past him, tuning out the babble of his thoughts, searching, as the stranger started to talk again.

"I'll give ye this, lass, he fought hard — harder than any of the others, and there have been  _many_  others. He even managed to keep some of his memories locked away from me — all his memories of you, lass. I dinna ken how he managed it, but I have to admire it. It has made foolin' ye hard enow for this long. All the same, lass, this body — this bluidy marvelous healin' body — is mine now, an' I willna be lettin' it go for any reason."

She was barely listening to him because she could feel Logan, feel his mind, he was suppressed by the other but he was there, and if she could just form a connection...

_Marie! I'm here, darlin'. He's in control, but I'm still here. Don't touch him, no matter what you do. That's how he gets inside you. He might even be able to get past your mutation. Just run. Can you hear me, darlin'?_

She felt her eyes well with tears at the sound of his beloved voice again. "I hear you," she said in a shaky voice. She saw confusion shadow the stranger's eyes and spoke quickly to distract him. "But why bother tryin' to fool me? Why didn't you jus' kill me? You had more than enough chances. " Her voice thickened with tears at the thought of how this stranger had pretended to be the man she loved. "Why pretend to be  _him_?"

"He was able to keep his memories of you locked away, but no' his own. The mon doesna know Xavier, does he now? But you do. You must, to be here in his cabin. It isna easy to sneak up on a telepath, but from everything I've heard of the mon Xavier willna scan a trusted friend of one of his little darlings, now will he? Too many scruples. You were to take me to him. But ye can be sure that I am no' silly enow to think that ye will do it now."

_Darlin', just go. If he decides he doesn't need you, he'll jump inside you and burn you up from the inside. He's done it over and over. Get away from him. I'm keepin' him from seein' anythin' since we met. He doesn't know your powers. Use whatever you got, just take him down and run. But don't let him touch you._

She flinched back, just as the man tensed his muscles, struggling against the force pinning him to the floor. She struggled to maintain her concentration, to hold the connection with Logan. Her thoughts raced frantically, trying to find some solution. Her grip shifted uneasily on the knife.

"What do you want with Professor Xavier?"

"Why, I want to kill him, of course. He lives in that mansion, wi' all those bairns, an' I will wager ye that he hasna mentioned havin' a bairn of his own, has he now? David Xavier was my name, but he didna claim me, did he? Let my mother lock me up in her island prison, an' dinna say a word about me to anyone. For that I owe him a debt, and I mean to repay it. Planned to see him squealing at the end of my dirk, but these claws your mon gave me will do the job just as well."

Logan was practically howling in frustrated rage and concern.  _You know what you gotta do, darlin'. Protect yourself. Protect your friends. Be smart here, baby. I'm not worth it. Don't let me hurt you, darlin'. Please. I'd rather die a million times than let anythin' happen to you. I'd do it myself if I could, but I can't. You gotta be strong for both of us, darlin'._

She stalled, trying to think of some other solution. There had to be another way out. There had to. She can't have found Logan just to lose him to this psychopath. "You're...you're Xavier's  _son_?"

The man smiled evilly.

"No, lass. Not anymore. I am Proteus now. I am reborn. An' this miraculous body is my chrysalis."

She searched his eyes, his face, looking for some sign of Logan. Only the stranger, Proteus, looked back at her, the amber eyes cold, his lips twisted in a cruel smirk. He was  _enjoying_  this.

"What do you want me to do?" she finally asked, knowing what they both would say.

Proteus smiled insincerely. "Easy, lass. Let me go. I willna harm you. Ye will have to do it soon enow. This body dinna need sleep, but ye will. Ye canna hold me here forever."

Logan was growling and snarling in rage.  _He's burned up everyone he's been in, baby, but with my healin', he can stay. You know what you have to do. Let him have me, darlin'. Just go. Whatever you need to get away. Kill me if you can — take my head off. I'm not sure if it'll work, but it'll give you a head start._

She shook her head. No fucking way. Save herself, and leave Logan in the grip of this bastard? There had to be another way. She could not — she  _would_  not— let him turn the man she loved into an abomination. "I won't let you have him."

"What do ye think ye might do then, lass? Hurt me? I promise ye, he's here wi' me, and he'll feel every minute of it. Ask yourself, lass, are ye willin' to torture your mon as well as me? An' for what reason? This body canna be hurt for long. It will heal. I've never found one like this _—_  a body that willna burn up, one that I can keep. An' I am verra sure that I willna be leavin' it no matter how much pain you cause us both."

_There's no savin' me, darlin'. I love you, baby, but now you gotta be strong for both of us. I know you can. Please darlin'. Just do it. Trust me._

She had the barest outline of a plan. Insanely risky, reckless beyond belief, but if the alternative meant leaving Logan in the grip of this psychopath then she would try it. She just hoped that he would forgive her. They were either coming out of this together, or not at all.

"I love you, Logan," she said. "An' I trust you. Like you gotta trust me. I'm sorry, sugar."

She felt the tears finally start to fall as she moved back, keeping Logan pinned with Magneto's power. She pulled the heavy ironwork lamp base forward, sobbing as she smashed it into Logan's skull over and over until his head was a bloody pulp.

* * *

Splattered with his blood, her mind still reeling in horror at what she had done, she raced upstairs. She changed into her snowmobile suit and scrawled a quick note. Shoving it in her pocket, she slogged through the snow, making no attempt to hide her path.

Her vision was blurred with tears and she wiped her eyes and cheeks with a shaky hand, taking a deep breath, trying to center her thoughts.

 _Will it work?_ she asked Jean in her head.

Jean's usually calm voice was choked with distress.  _I honestly don't know, Rogue,_  she answered.  _But if you even stand a chance, it will take everybody. And I mean_ _everybody_ _._

 _I know_ , Marie answered grimly. In the outside world she moved through the snow, her body pushing forward on autopilot as her mind continued down the hallway of her mental structure, Jean's presence close behind her.

She pulled open the door to Bobby's space.  _Bobby?_ she asked.

His answer was instant, his usual sheepish docility gone.  _Of course, Rogue. I'm with you._

Jubilee was next.  _Just let me at 'em, chica_ , she said with a smile full of trouble. Her hands glowed and snapped with latent electricity.

With her three friends at her back, Marie felt a little better about approaching the next door. It was already cracked open from her hasty pull on Magneto's powers, but to her surprise Lensherr was still sitting calmly inside. She pushed the door wider, meeting his cold grey eyes.

He nodded in acknowledgement of her unasked question.  _I will not let this miscreant hurt Charles_ , he said with unexpected vehemence. As close to him as she was, she could not help but feel the emotions radiating from his slim, elderly form. His concern for Xavier brought her already unstable emotions almost to the point of tears again, and she had to swallow hard to suppress the lump in her throat. In this, at least, they were allies. She pushed the door wide and moved to the last space, pausing in front of the locked door.

 _Do you realize what you're considering?_ Jean asked.  _With Proteus's energy demands — even if we are able to contain him, it will not be enough. The rest of us can go back, but this — unleashing the Wolverine — would be permanent. You would need his healing to be a part of you, always._

 _She's right,_  Bobby added.  _You could still run. Get to Xavier first, get help. But this — it would change you, Rogue._

She looked into Bobby's clear blue eyes. He was still so naive. _It's already changed me, Bobby_ , she said gently.  _Knowin' Logan, lovin' him — I'm never gonna be the person I was before. He's already a part of me_. She took a deep breath.  _I just hope he feels the same way._

She felt the others back away as she focused her concentration on the last door.  _Are you there? Do you know what's happenin'?_

The growl that came through could have meant anything, but she could feel his emotions — anger, and confusion, and reluctance.

 _I know that you're scared,_  she communicated to him, ignoring the angry growl that statement elicited.  _I know you think if I see what you've got in there I'm not gonna love you anymore. But you're wrong. Logan saw that, and he trusted me. And now you gotta do the same. Or there isn't gonna be any you to love anymore._

She felt him moving closer to the door.  _You could just go_ , he growled.  _Leave us to the other man. You could go back to where you came from Marie, with people like you. You could be safe._

She rested her forehead against the door.  _Forgive me for sayin' so, sugar, but you are fuckin' outta your mind if you think there's even a chance of that._ She pushed her feelings toward him _—_ her love, her acceptance, but also her fear of losing him, and most of all her unshaking resolve.  _You an' me, sugar. Forever. Sound like a deal?_

She held her breath, listening to the silence, feeling his shifting emotions. Finally the door shook and then swung open slowly. He stood before her in his faded jeans, his chest bare and bloody, his tangled hair and scruffy beard unkempt. Just as he had been when she met him, and she felt her heart turn over seeing him again.

 _Still sassier in here_ , he said with a quirk of his mouth and she couldn't help from throwing herself at him. She felt the oddest sensation as they embraced. She knew they weren't real, knew they were both just mental forms within her brain, but still as she pressed against him she felt a comingling of their thoughts and feelings, a permeation of his soul into hers and hers into his. They broke apart and she looked into his eyes, the rich golden amber mellowed now with a hint of brown.

He seemed to know what she was thinking.  _You're a part of me now, darlin',_  he rumbled.  _And I'm a part of you._

She looked into his beloved face, still wrapping her mind around what had happened, until Jubilee's cheerful voice piped up behind her.

_Enough with the lovey-dovey stuff. Are we gonna kick some ass or what?_

* * *

THREE HOURS LATER

He leaped for her, landing on the ice in front of her. He skidded into her, knocking them both to the ground.

"I am Proteus, lass. I have killed more than a hundred people in the last few months alone. Did ye really think ye could stop me all on your own?" He pressed his hand to her face, watching her eyes glaze over as he poured himself into her.

He felt the giddy tipping point, when he was more in her than in the other man. Instead of seeing through her eyes, however, he saw nothing but a wall in front of him. He turned, confused, but he was walled in on all sides. Walls made of ice, and metal, and jolts of electricity that rattled his brain when he pushed against them. Psychic walls stronger than any he had ever known could exist, apparently honed by years of practice and bolstered by a telepath of skill and power beyond his imagining. He began to panic, trying to reverse the flow, but it was too late. He scrabbled at the boundaries, trying to break through, trying to break free, as the claustrophobia overwhelmed him. This was worse than his room at Muir Island, worse than anything. He screamed in rage and frustration, as the girl's voice ghosted through his head.

_That was your mistake, Proteus. I'm not all on my own._

He slammed against the walls with his fists, his feet, even his head, in a frenzy of fear and anger, but it was no use. They were rock-solid and unmoving, and behind them  _—_ behind them he sensed a growling beast, even more fearsome than the one he had encountered in the healing man.

 _No!_ he screamed, but the word echoed around the empty cell. He stared at the walls with unseeing eyes, his ears still echoing with the sounds of his screams.  _NO!_

* * *

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	28. The Aftermath

The first thing she noticed was the sensation of silky cotton below her where she had expected snow and ice. Next came the scents, a turbulent wave of them, each one startlingly vivid and eloquent. The slight smoky smell of a long-extinguished fire, the aroma of her own lemongrass shampoo, and the rich, woodsy scent of…

"Logan!" she tried to say, but her throat was too dry to form the word. She opened her eyes. It was just after dawn, a pink cast coloring the light washing over his form. He sat in a chair by the bed, and the sight of him made her heart turn over. He looked broken, defeated  _—_ his shoulders slumped, lines of worry etched into his face as he stared numbly at his boots.

She ran her tongue around her dry mouth. "Logan," she tried again, reaching for him.

His head jerked up and in a flash he was kneeling at her side. At the same time she felt the pull at her wrists and looked down, shocked to see them bound tightly with rope. She looked up into Logan's furious, desperate eyes as the edge of his claw pressed against her throat.

"Leave her," he said, the low guttural voice an odd mixture of command and plea. "Take me again. I won't even fight you this time." She could feel his hand shaking, driving the edge of his claw into her neck. "Just…let her live. I'll give you anything."

She felt her eyes flood with tears. How could she not have realized what he would think?

"It's okay, sugar," she rushed to reassure him. "It's me."

A snarl tore from him as the claw dug deeper into her neck, drawing blood. "Enough of your bullshit," he rasped. " _Those aren't her eyes_."

Her brow furrowed in confusion before she remembered what had happened  _—_ her inner Wolverine's amber eyes deepening with brown as they intermingled. The same must have happened to her.

She breathed in through her nose, fighting to keep her voice calm and even. "Listen to me carefully, Logan. I was able to do it...to lock Proteus up in my head. He's not gonna hurt you or me ever again, sugar. My eyes are different because...well, 'cause I couldn't do it on my own. I needed help from the you inside my head. And we did it. We were able to take that bastard down together."

She saw hope flicker briefly through his eyes before it was swamped by suspicion. If she weren't so wound up she would have smiled. That was her Logan, all right.

"I got your senses, now, sugar," she said. "I smell everythin'. You could smell if I was lyin', right?"

She saw him almost reluctantly take a deep inhale, and the suspicion in his eyes tipped more in the direction of uncertainty.

"Got your healin' too, sugar. Do me a favor and move that claw a little ways away, for both our sakes, and you'll see."

He hesitated for a moment, and then moved the claw a millimeter. Then a little further as his thumb came up to wipe the blood away. It didn't sting at all when he touched it, so she knew the cut must have healed already.

"There's one more thing." His eyes searched her face, and she tried to smile reassuringly. "Might wanna stand back a little for this one, sugar. I don't wanna startle ya."

She held up her bound hands and he instinctively shifted back a little. She concentrated, pulling on his memories, and then...

"Yeeouch!" she exclaimed, as three delicate bone claws sprang free from her right hand. "Goddamn, that hurts!"

They both stared at the claws in amazement for a moment. She held her breath as he traced one of his fingers down the graceful arc of ivory, making her shiver despite all her worry and distress.

Her eyes met his. "So that's why you like that so much." She could see in his face that he was still struggling, unwilling to let himself believe.

Reaction belatedly hit her and she started to shake, her voice growing raspy with tears. "You gotta be convinced soon, sugar.  _Please_. 'Cause if I'm not holdin' you in the next five seconds I think I'm gonna fall apart."

He closed his eyes, taking one more deep inhale. She saw the last of the doubt fall from his expression, raw emotion taking its place.

"Marie," he said, and when he opened his eyes again they were wet.

"Yeah, sugar. It's me," she sobbed in relief.

With an impatient growl he was on her, cutting the rope at her wrists and ankles with a careless snick of his claw before pulling her into his arms. She clung to him, squeezing him tightly, desperate for the feel of him against her. His heart beat wildly against her ear, both of them pulling in deep breaths, shaking with emotion.

"I thought I'd lost you, darlin'," he rasped.

"I know, sugar. Me too."

Then his mouth was crushed against hers, desperately, almost violently claiming her. They stole each other's breath, straining together, trying to get closer.

She only broke the kiss when she felt her claws snag on his shirt.

She pulled away from him for a moment, torn between laughter and tears. "How do I get these damn things in again?"

His hands were tender on her forearm as his deft fingers traced the tense line of a muscle knowingly.

"Here," he said, his voice gentle. "Just relax, darlin'. And pull like this." With his guidance she flicked her wrist, and the claws retracted smoothly.

"Wow," she said.

His thumb smoothed away the trace of blood at her knuckles. When he looked up his expression was somber.

"You're like me now," he said, his eyes shadowed with concern. "I never wanted that for you, darlin'."

"Shhhh," she said, her hand cradling his jaw. "I hadn't planned it, but I can't say I'm sorry at the idea." She took a deep breath. "I know for you the healin' has been more of a curse than a blessin'. And I'm not sayin' it'll be easy. But we'll face it together. For as long as you want to."

His golden eyes blazed into hers. "Forever, then."

She smiled even as more tears fell from her eyes. "Forever."

* * *

Marie lay in Logan's arms, squeezing him tight, afraid to let him go. They couldn't seem to get close enough to each other. They had made love all day and half of the night  _—_ first with furious intensity, and then with slow tenderness. Even so, it hadn't seemed to have fully calmed his fears, or hers. When he was moving within her, mindless bliss overcoming them both, the world seemed to make sense again, but soon afterwards the memories of what had happened crept back, haunting them.

She knew she should sleep  _—_ the new healing factor was probably the only thing keeping her from total exhaustion at this point  _—_ and yet she found herself unable to let go. Logan seemed to be in a similar state, his body sheened with sweat but still tense and vigilant against hers.

"I guess we're gonna be freaked out for awhile still," she finally said.

He grunted his agreement.

She nuzzled into his chest, soothing herself with the scent of him and her mixed together, as she knew he often did. She was still adjusting to her newly-heightened senses. Every scent was fraught with meaning, and the room still seemed bright even in what she knew was dim moonlight. She could hear the beat of both of their hearts, the rasp of their breaths. Interestingly, she seemed to have gotten less of his feral qualities than she had of his senses and healing. She wondered if the Wolverine in her head had maintained some control over what had been shared, holding back that part of him.

Logan's hand traced tenderly through her hair, spreading the auburn and platinum strands out across his chest. She looked up into his warm golden gaze, and the sudden rush of both love and repentance overwhelmed her.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. "I'm so sorry, Logan."

His hand stilled. "What could you possibly have to be sorry for, darlin'?"

"I shoulda known." She sat up, swiping the tears from her eyes, her body restless with emotional turmoil. "I shoulda known right away that it wasn't you. I let him have you for  _days_ , I shoulda known right away you wouldn't be like that, an' instead I let myself doubt you..."

He sat up too, the muscles of his thick arms flexing with tension. "Jesus Christ, Marie, you have nothin' to apologize for." He sucked in a deep breath, his next words harsh and vehement, choked with self-loathing. " _I'm_ the one who let  _you_  down."

Surprise pulled her gaze up to his, but he was looking down at his hands, his mouth twisted into a bitter line.

"You didn't, sugar...how could you think that?" she asked.

"When you...chose me. Told me _I_ was the one you wanted. I couldn't believe how lucky I was. That you'd want a dumb animal like me in your life. And I thought...at least there's one thing I can give you."

His voice was softer now, but still harsh with regret. "Maybe I got these broken memories, and the nightmares, and all that crap. And maybe I don't have a lot of stuff, like some guys have, houses and cars and all that stuff. But there's one thing I got goin' for me."

Almost meditatively he slid the claws out, his eyes still locked on his hands, his brow furrowed. "I'm a big, mean, badass, there's no denying that. And I got this healin', which has been a goddamned curse in the past, but maybe now it would be good for somethin'. And I thought, maybe you weren't makin' the best choice, but if you'd made it that was one thing I could give you in return."

His eyes finally moved up to hers, and she sucked in her breath at the haunted expression in them. "I thought, at least I can keep you safe, in a way that none of those other guys probably could. I could put this body, this damned indestructible body of mine, between you and anyone who was tryin' to hurt you. The one good thing I could offer you in exchange for all the amazin' things you've given me."

He pulled in another deep, shuddering breath. "And then it hadn't even been a coupla months, the first bad guy who comes along, and I couldn't do a damn thing to protect you."

"Logan..."

"Even worse," he interrupted explosively, as if he had to get the words out before his courage failed him. "The way he got my body...he coulda used it against you, Marie. Everythin' I thought I could use to protect you, my strength and my healin' and this damned indestructible metal, all of it coulda been a weapon against you. I know you got ways to kick my ass or even put me down for good, but you didn't know it was him, and you don't know how close it was. He coulda come up on you when you were sleepin' and put the claws through you, or worse..."

He was restlessly snicking the claws in and out, his pupils blown wide with remembered fear as the words seemed to be tumble helplessly out of him.

"Logan...stop it, sugar." He seemed lost in his own mind and she put her hand against his face, willing him to come back to her. "Logan _—_ just  _stop it._ "

He seemed to snap out of his daze, taking in another deep breath and then snicking in the claws for good. She crawled into his lap, holding his face gently between her hands, forcing him to see the truth of her words.

"Skippin' over all that bullshit about how you got nothin' else to offer me, which you can be damn sure I'll take issue with later...Logan, you did protect me. There's no way we woulda come out of this if you hadn'ta kept him in the dark about me. I still don't know how you did it, and from what he told me neither did he, so it must have been a damned fine trick, sugar."

She ran her hands through his hair, watching him intently, her voice low and serious. "He had taken hundreds of people, Logan. _Hundreds_. An' not a one of them was able to do what you did. You protected me, Logan, even when he had you. And if you hadn't...if he had known enough about me to fool me, convinced me to take him to Xavier...he woulda killed us all. Me, everyone I know, even you if he found somethin' better someday."

She felt some of the tension in his body ease a bit, the deep furrow between his brows relaxing a bit.

"An' in the end, it was the you in my head who took him down, Logan. I know that's weird to think about, that it might seem like it wasn't really you, but it's all part of you, an' I couldn'ta done it without you. Without your strength, and your healin', there's no way I coulda walled him up like that. He woulda burned me up, just as you warned me. You saved us both, Logan."

He was already shaking his head reflexively. "You did that, darlin'. Took him down, and saved us both. You coulda just run, you  _shoulda_ just run, and you risked yourself for me..." He buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent. "You shouldn'ta done that, darlin'," he growled into her skin.

She smiled. She'd take his irritation at her over his self-condemnation any day. "I had a feelin' you'd have somethin' to say to me about that," she teased.

He growled again but she could sense the playfulness this time, and she felt of the tension in herself ease as well. I _'m just glad you got the chance to say it,_  she thought to herself, as he traced a line of tender kisses up her neck, making her shiver.

He lay back, pulling her with him until she lay on his chest again. His hands traced through her hair just as before, but his body was more relaxed. She felt a lot better too, sleepiness creeping up on her as she listened to his deep, even breaths and the slow and steady thump of his heart.

Yes, they were likely to be freaked out for awhile, she thought muzzily. No getting over something like that immediately. But, against all odds, they had each other back, and they would deal with it together.

* * *

[Please review! :-D]


	29. The Letter

* * *

It was late morning by the time they both stumbled their way down to the kitchen. Logan began mixing the pancake batter while Marie started the coffee going.

He came up behind her as she was spooning sugar into her cup, wrapping his big arms around her and rubbing his bristly chin into her neck. She laughed, nuzzling him in return for a moment before remorse spiked through her. She remembered standing here a few days ago, wishing he would do just that, as he sat cold and silent in his chair. How could she not have realized sooner that it wasn't him?

She shook the dark thoughts aside, turning in his arms to give him a big squeeze. They would both have to come to terms with what had happened, in their own time. In the meantime, they had a lot of loose ends to tie up. Not the least of which was telling the Professor what had happened to his son...

"Oh, shit!" she breathed, her eyes jumping to Logan's suddenly-alert gaze. "What day is it?"

She counted on her fingers up from Christmas Day while he made his own calculations. "Wednesday, right?"

She nodded her agreement, sighing in relief. Samuel wouldn't be doing the grocery drop until Friday. Still, she shouldn't take any chances.

"When things were goin' to hell I left a note for Professor Xavier at the grocery drop," she told Logan. "We better go get it back before it gets delivered. The news I got for him is bad enough without freakin' him out more."

He looked at her curiously but she blushed a little, avoiding his eyes. He must have decided not to press her. He simply grunted his assent, going back to flip the pancake in the nick of time.

After they had eaten, Marie sat down to write a new letter to the Professor. After agonizing over what to say, she decided in the end to just ask Samuel for a new satellite phone to replace the one Proteus had destroyed. Finding out that his son was both a mass murderer and effectively imprisoned in her mind would be enough of a blow; if she couldn't tell the Professor in person she could at least break it to him gently over the phone.

She went on the snowmobile, with Logan following doggedly along on foot, refusing to leave her side for even a second. It made the going slower, but she knew better than to argue. To be honest, she didn't want to let him out of her sight either.

She opened the grocery lockbox, relieved to see the letter she had written that horrible afternoon still inside. She pulled it out, replacing it with the new note.

She saw Logan's eyes sharpen on the back of the piece of paper she held, and she realized he was looking at the sketch she had hurriedly drawn of him. She blushed, but hesitated only a moment before holding the piece of paper out to him. He deserved to know, and if he were angry with her for what she had written, she deserved that too.

He seemed to sense her hesitation. "You sure, darlin'?" he asked, and she nodded. Nonetheless, she found herself staring at the snow between her feet, afraid to see his reaction as he read.

* * *

_Dear Professor;_

_I wish I could break this to you gently, but time is short. I have been happier here than I had ever imagined possible. I not only learned to control my mutation, but I met someone. His name is Logan._

_I am so sorry, Professor, but two days ago your son David — or at least his consciousness — came here, looking for a way to you. He has killed so many people, and now he has taken Logan, using his body._

_I have a plan to free us both, but if you are reading this then I have failed. David may come for you in my body, and you should be warned of that. But that is not my greatest fear._

_He wants Logan, and I believe he will keep him if he can. And here is my final request of you, Professor._

_Logan has feral senses, and a healing factor beyond any I have heard of. His skeleton is indestructibly lined with metal, as are his claws. I am telling you all this so that you understand how difficult of a thing I am asking you._

_If you see the man I've drawn on the back of this page, beware of him. Know that David has control of his body, and he means to kill you. Do whatever you must to protect yourself and those you love. But, if at all possible, please spare his life. Know that I loved Logan too, more than I can ever express. If you can control or contain him, find some hope of freeing him from David's influence — if you can succeed in this way where I have failed, I would consider it the greatest gift you could ever give me._

_I am sorry I did not get the chance to tell you in person how much you have meant to me. You saved my life, and then gave me a purpose for it. I shouldn't ask you for more, but I am. I must._

_Tell the others at the mansion that I love them, and miss them. And that I went down fighting._

_\- Rogue_

* * *

She heard the rustle of the paper and reluctantly raised her eyes. He was staring at the sketch, his jaw tense. She felt a lump growing in her throat.

She looked down at the snow again. "I'm sorry, sugar," she mumbled. "I just..."

Suddenly she was in his arms, his lips pressed to hers. She kissed him back in stunned confusion, gasping for breath when he finally let her down.

"You're...you're not mad at me?"

He furrowed his brow. "Why would I be mad, darlin'? This here..." He cleared his throat, his voice nonetheless raspy with emotion when he spoke again. "No one ever did anythin' like that for me. Risked their life for me, called in favors for me, said good stuff like that about me. Marie...no one but you would ever do somethin' like that for someone like me."

"But..." She couldn't help feeling that he just wasn't understanding what she had done. "I told him all about you, laid out all your strengths so he could get around them." Shame roiled in her belly. "I told him to kill you if he had to. I sold you out, Logan."

He growled impatiently. "You know that's not true, darlin'. You didn't turn on me, ever. You were tellin' Xavier how to stop  _him_ , Proteus. And I'm damned glad you did."

He grasped her face between his gloved hands, his eyes blazing into hers. "You risked everythin' to save me, Marie. And if you hadn't managed it, if you died and he still had me..." A shudder went through him.

He dropped his hands, balling them into fists at his sides as his voice turned harsh and low. "The best thing you coulda done for me was make sure that someone else killed me. I'd rather die a million times than live in this body, trapped like I was _— helpless —_ with the guy who killed you." His eyes met hers, open and sincere. "You made the right call, darlin', and I'm damned proud of you for doin' it."

She launched herself into his arms, squeezing him tight as relief flooded through her. She realized that she hadn't fully comprehended until now what he had experienced. Held prisoner in his own body, forced to watch everything that Proteus had done. Knowing Proteus might kill her with his body and he would be helpless to stop it, knowing he might even spend eternity trapped that way.

She shivered, thinking how close to disaster they both had come. She knew he was feeling the same way as he rubbed his hands over her, reassuring himself with her presence.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Let's go home, sugar."

* * *

Logan paced anxiously downstairs while Marie spoke to Xavier in the loft upstairs. He was trying not to eavesdrop, but he hated having her out of his sight and the stress and sadness in her tone of voice was making his heart race.

He felt foolish doing it, but he couldn't help coming to wait at the bottom of the stairs as he finally heard her murmur her goodbyes.

She looked a little shaky, her eyes rimmed with red, and he pulled her to sit on the couch with him, rubbing her cold hands between his. "It go okay, darlin'?"

She nodded, leaning into him, pressing her face to his flannel shirt. "It was rough all right. But at least...he knew part of it, knew that David had escaped from that island in Scotland where they were keepin' him. Even knew that he was killin' people as he went. The X-Men had been tryin' to track him down, but had lost him somewhere before he crossed over to the States."

Her accent was thicker than usual, an indication of her emotional turmoil. He rubbed her back, trying to soothe her as she took in a deep shuddering breath. "Still, it was no fun, tellin' him that David tried to kill us both...an' that he was tryin' to kill him. I don't know exactly what happened back when David was a kid, but I could tell that the Professor thought that he had let him down. That he was still lettin' him down."

She finally pulled away, leaning back against the couch, rubbing her forehead. "The Professor asked my permission to call Hank in, an' we all talked through what had happened. Between the two of them, they know more about my mutation an' my mental shields than anyone. An' Logan..."

She opened her eyes, the amber-brown gaze startling in its intensity. He was still getting used to it, the way her eyes had changed. Still the deep brown guileless gaze of Marie and yet a little bit of wildness, a little bit of himself flickering underneath...

"Hank thought...a healin' mutation like the one I described. He thinks you're right, that just about nothin' could kill you. Could kill us. That you could be older than you look — even centuries older."

He looked away from her at that. He should have told her sooner, been more clear, but how could he ever have expected that she would share his curse?

He nodded curtly. "Far as I can tell I haven't gotten any older in the time I can remember. And every once in awhile I get a memory...feels like a dream almost, but goin' way back. Maybe even sixty, seventy years, and I wasn't a kid back then neither."

She grasped his hand in his, her voice low and meditative. "Livin' so long, watchin' everyone else die...it would be hard to let yourself get close to people. I mean, they're mayflies compared to you."

He looked down at her hand, so slender and pale in his big rough paw, as remorse gnawed at his gut. "I'm sorry I did this to you, Marie. I don't know if it's why I am like I am, but I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

"I thought we covered this, Logan...you may be sorry, but I'm not. I told you I was stayin' with you, an' now I can." Her words drew his gaze back to hers, and he read nothing but sincerity and affection in the golden-brown depths as she continued. "The rest of it we'll deal with...together."

He pulled her into his side again, some of the tension in his shoulders easing with the certainty in her voice.

"I have to admit, though," she continued. "Much as I wish that bastard Proteus in the fires of hell for what he did to you...somehow this seems worse."

"What do you mean?" In his opinion nothing was torment enough for Proteus, but he thought she had just...put him on ice, or something. Bottled him up in her head.

"I don't know exactly what happened...what I did to control him. You an' everyone else in my head helped, buildin' the walls, an' there's no way I'm gonna try to look. But..." Her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to put it into words.

"It's not like the others. Even if they're contained, they kinda know what's goin' on. If he's awake up there in my head, like they are, but trapped...alone in a room with nothin' and no one, for god knows how long? Centuries maybe, if Hank is right about how long we might live. Not even able to die." She shuddered. "That doesn't seem right. For anyone, no matter what they did, but 'specially for the Professor to think about happenin' to his only son."

He reluctantly grunted his acknowledgement. Much as he would gladly put the claws to Proteus if there were somethin' there to stick 'em in, the idea of keeping a man in solitary confinement for centuries, long past the edge of madness...it did make something twist in his gut a little. He knew how isolation got to a man, slowly and relentlessly stealing every part of him that was human. Death would be a mercy compared to that.

"An' the Professor is a little worried about what it might mean for me, havin' him there." Her words jerked him out of his reverie, making his pulse pound in his ears.

"What do you mean? He thinks it's dangerous for you?"

He saw her nostrils flare as she took in the spike of fear in his scent, her face tender as she petted and soothed him with her hands.

"Shhh, sugar, don't fret about it. He's jus' not sure what it means, that's all. I had to head him off from comin' to get us with the jet, but I promised him that we'd make it back to the mansion as soon as the roads are passable. That okay with you?"

"Whatever you need, darlin'."

He forced himself to calm. There was no sign that Proteus was hurting Marie so far, but it wouldn't hurt to get her back to where this Professor guy could maybe take a look, help her keep him in check. Maybe there was even some way to get him out. And if there was, if she didn't need the healing anymore, would she be able to separate herself again from the part of Logan she had integrated? He knew she said she didn't regret being this way, but maybe once she had the choice back...

He sighed, nuzzling into her hair. He had had years to come to terms with what his mutation meant for him. He didn't want her to suffer from this curse of longevity, but goddamn it he didn't want to lose her either. He was too damned selfish to face the thought of decades, or even centuries, spent mourning her loss. If it came to that...maybe she could use her mutation on him, take him with her. The thought was strangely comforting.

"Well, no sense borrowin' trouble," she said finally. "We can deal with all of that when we get back to the mansion. In the meantime, I'm gonna enjoy every last second of havin' you all to myself."

She shot him a saucy smile. "Howzabout steak for dinner?"

He gave himself a mental shake. He would take her advice, and enjoy every second he had with her, whether it was years or decades or centuries. He smiled back at her.

"You know me, darlin'. I'm always in the mood for steak."

* * *

[Please review! :-D]


	30. The Revelation

[Author's Note: So, when thinking about the aftermath of Proteus's possession of Logan, I had the idea for some plot-furthering smut. Nothing better than smut with purpose, huh? But, in this case, the set-up for the smut ended up taking up a lot of space, and being so emotional that it was a little hard to transition into bow chicka bow wow mode, and so the actual smut will be next chapter. Sorry for the tease! More author's note at the bottom, so as to not spoil some of the plot.]

* * *

_It was happening again. Logan watched in sick fury, straining against his bonds, as the needle came toward him. He could feel the Wolverine surging to the surface as he gnashed his teeth, snarling at the man in the white lab coat._

" _Don't fight it, Wolverine," the crisp voice said and he jerked his head, barely able to catch a glimpse of the man in military dress standing behind the high back of the metal chair. Still, he knew his scent — he would know it anywhere, the crafty odor of him strong even through the stench of Logan's own rage and helplessness._

_He was in a frenzy now, struggling and jerking against the bonds, uncaring as the restraints tore through the skin at his wrists to expose the gleaming ivory of his bones._

_He locked his feral gaze back on the man in the lab coat, who despite the fear spiking his scent hesitated only briefly before plunging the needle into the vein. Bitter bile choked Logan's throat as he watched the viscous yellow liquid surge into his bloodstream._

_He roared in frustration and agony as the chemicals burned through his system. He could feel the tidal wave wash over him, and then — the worst of it, that seductive undertow of absolute peace, as beguiling as it was false. He tried to fight it but it pulled him under, his vision blurring as calm spread through him, his mind opening against his will to the words of the military man._

" _There now, Wolverine...isn't that better?" the voice asked placidly. "Why try to fight what we make you do? It's not like you will remember afterwards anyway. Now here are your orders..."_

_The room spun, and suddenly he was in the cabin's loft, looking down at Marie. She slept so sweetly, her body curled beneath the covers, her hair in a rich tangle over her bare shoulder. He reached out to touch her, but his limbs didn't move._

_He tried again, and again, before the sick realization hit him. Only then did his hands move toward her as Proteus controlled his body, brushing Marie's cheek softly with the knuckles of Logan's hand. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment before she opened her eyes. Her sleepy brown gaze looked up at him. He tried to yell out, tried to warn her, but he was helpless, trapped, Proteus laughing evilly in his head as Marie smiled softly and opened her arms to him..._

" _Logan," she breathed. "Logan!"_

* * *

He jerked awake, on his feet with a roar, claws out and his back against the wall before he was even fully aware. Then the nausea hit, wave after wave of it. He crouched on his haunches, drenched in cooling sweat, as his stomach lurched and roiled. His whole body was shuddering, trembling. He heard a high, keening whine, and realized to his shame that it was coming from him. He choked it off with an effort, trying to suck air into his lungs despite a chest still seized with fear.

Distantly, through the roaring of blood in his ears, he heard Marie's voice. He knew she was saying something but he couldn't make it out, couldn't even cope with deciphering words right now.

"Please," he rasped. "Please."

He didn't even know what he was asking for but she seemed to understand, giving him space but staying close enough for him to soothe himself with the smell of her. He sank further to the ground, finally managing to retract the claws. He buried his face in his hands, struggling to get control of himself as the queasy aftereffects of the adrenaline rush shook his system.

The final image replayed behind his closed eyelids over and over again  _—_  Marie, her brown eyes trusting as she welcomed Proteus to their bed...

"Goddammit," he choked out, scrubbing his hands across his face, trying to erase the image from his mind. "Fuck."

 _It didn't happen,_ he told himself.  _Just a nightmare. He never touched her._ And the first part of the dream? His mind raced as he tried to sort out nightmare from memory...

"Sugar?" Marie's worried voice pulled him out of his frantic thoughts a little. "You're shakin', baby. Here..."

She settled a blanket around his shoulders and he reflexively pulled it closer around him. It smelled of him and her, and he breathed in the warmth and comfort, feeling the gooseflesh on his body start to subside.

He felt more than heard her sink down beside him. He listened to her gentle breathing, trying to calm his thumping heart, knowing gratefully that she wouldn't touch him until he was ready for it.

 _What a fuckin' wreck I am,_  he thought bitterly, despising his weakness.  _She deserves so much better 'n me._  But even as he thought it he found himself leaning toward her, his body hunched until his head rested in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of her sleep-warmed skin where her pulse beat strongest.

Her wordless cry of relief was balm to his raw nerves as her arms wrapped around him, pulling him into the softness of her body. He found himself with his head pressed in her lap, the thin silk of her nightgown caressing his cheek as he nuzzled into her. This wasn't about sex, or even love  _—_ just comfort. Her actions were almost maternal as she ran her fingers repetitively through his hair, stroking and soothing him, murmuring her reassurances as the last of his trembling faded away.

* * *

Half an hour later Logan stood under the scalding spray of the shower, hoping the pounding water pressure might ease some of the tension in his stiff muscles. He closed his eyes, letting the water pour over his head.

_Now here are your orders..._

The voice was suddenly so clear in his head that it seemed to echo through the shower stall. Logan's claws sprang free involuntarily, shattering the slate tile in front of him. He cursed, retracting the claws slowly, letting the searing pain ground him in reality.

_Why try to fight what we make you do? It's not like you will remember afterwards anyway._

"Those motherfuckers."

He pressed his forehead against the cool tile wall, muttering the words he hadn't even been able to think to himself before now.

" _Mind control_."

No wonder there were so many blanks in his memory. He knew that they had messed with him  _—_  waking up in that facility with the metal skeleton was testament to that  _—_  but he had thought maybe it was some trauma, some defense mechanism on his part that kept him from his past. He may have wondered at times if his memories had been taken from him, but he had never been sure. Now he knew.

It hadn't been enough for them to meddle with his body  _—_  exploiting his healing, defiling and manipulating his very bones until they had turned him into the freakish killing machine that he was now. That had only been the beginning. The thought of these strangers violating his mind, stealing his free will, over and over, mission after mission...

He felt anger start to spread in his belly, burning away the feeling of helplessness.

* * *

He ran a towel over his hair, pulling on jeans and a flannel shirt before padding down the stairs in his bare feet. Marie appeared to have given up on sleep too. She was brewing tea, but she had a bottle of beer ready for him.

He grunted his thanks before sitting wearily on the couch, taking a deep draught. Marie sat beside him.

"Maybe you should try to get some sleep, darlin'..." he suggested, but stopped his words abruptly as panic flashed through her eyes.

She carefully put the tea down, her hands shaking slightly. Her voice was raspy with tears when she spoke, looking down at her hands. "I...Logan, I promise, I won't say anythin', I won't force you to talk, jus' let me stay, let be here with you while you're goin' through this..."

He suddenly understood, remembering how Proteus had acted, driving her away while he wrestled with Logan for control.

"Jesus, baby...I'm sorry." He drew her up against his side, letting her nuzzle into his shirt, her hands in a death-grip on the fabric. "Of course I want you with me. Always." He felt the tension melt from her, the scent of her relief clouding the air around them. He pulled in a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh.  _How long would Proteus be haunting them both?_ "It's just...I'm a little scared of how I feel right now."

"How do you mean, sugar?"

"I feel..." He tried to put it into words, the frustration and fear and rage and helplessness, restlessly snicking the claws in and out a few inches as the words eluded him. "Out of control," he finally said bitterly. "That's fuckin' ironic."

"It was different this time, wasn't it? I hadn'ta thought they could get any worse, but this one was."

He nodded. He looked into her eyes, the now honey-brown depths glowing with warmth and tenderness. He felt the words start to spill from him, drawn out like poison from a wound by her quiet acceptance.

"I remembered some more of what they did to me. Military, and doctors. Not just puttin' the metal in me. That wasn't enough for them. They shot me up with chemicals, hypnosis, I don't even know what else. Makin' me do things for them, things that I didn't wanna do. And then makin' me forget afterwards. And I knew, each time, what was gonna happen and I couldn't do anythin', I couldn't stop them from usin' me like that, over and over..."

He was pacing now, the anger too overwhelming to keep still. "And then...I was back, trapped in this goddamned body, watchin' Proteus. He was watchin' you, Marie, watchin' you sleep, and then he was touchin' you..."

He stopped his words, resting his forehead against the wall, grinding his teeth to keep the bitter thoughts back. That she had not even known it wasn't him, that she had welcomed Proteus to their bed...

"That didn't happen, Logan," her voice said, soft and shaken. "He didn't touch me. Didn't even try."

He took in another deep, shuddering breath. "I know, darlin'. I know."

She seemed to be talking more to herself now. "But he could've. We both know it. It scares me too, what almost happened. And neither of us able to stop it."

"That's just it, Marie," he spat out, clenching his fists in frustration. "How many times does shit like this have to happen to me?" He was panting now, his heart thumping in his chest. "I woke up in those damn woods, naked, with  _nothin'_. Nothin' but my body and my mind, but at least I thought those things belonged to me. But they don't. They didn't back then, and they didn't when Proteus had me. What is it about me that makes me everybody's goddamned puppet? Fuckin' helpless, paralyzed, lettin' other people use me. Even y..."

He choked the words off, but he saw it was too late. She looked confused for a moment and then her eyes grew more distant, the gold flickering stronger like it did when she called on that part of him that lived in her. He swallowed hard as her eyes refocused with a new knowledge in them. "I didn't mean..."

"Even me." She finished his sentence, her voice carefully neutral.

He rested his back against the wall, shoulders slumped as he stared down at his bare feet. "Fuck, Marie, I don't even know what I'm sayin' right now..."

"No. You're right." She stood up slowly, coming towards him until she was just a step away. He forced himself to meet her eyes, expecting condemnation and seeing only understanding. "With Magneto's powers...I made you my puppet too. Picked you up and threw you down, used the metal in your bones to keep you paralyzed and helpless..."

He swallowed hard again, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. "Not me. Proteus. You wouldn't do that to me."

"But I  _can_. That power is there, it's in me. And you were there, while I did it. You didn't have control, but it was your body I was treatin' like a rag doll. Manipulatin' you against your will, jus' like they did. Jus' like Proteus did." She reached out a hand, placing her palm flat against his thumping heart. "Logan, it's okay to be mad at me for that. For usin' you like they did."

"I'm not mad at you, Marie. I could never be mad at you..." Her hand brushed up to cradle his cheek, the tender gesture making him close his eyes.

"Maybe that's the problem." His eyes snapped open again to meet hers. "It doesn't have to make sense, Logan. Knowin' I have that kind of power over your body, it's gotta bug you. Gotta make you a little angry or resentful at me. It would be awful for anyone, bein' used like that, but it's so much worse for you, you're an alpha..."

The growl ripped from him without conscious intent. Christ, it caught him completely by surprise, the sudden rush of arousal he felt hearing those words from her lips.

He saw her nostrils flare, her eyes glowing golden again for a moment as an electric current seemed to sizzle between them. The corner of her mouth tipped up in a slow smile. The tinge of worry in her scent was being eclipsed now. He couldn't help inhaling deep as the smell of arousal pooled around her body as well, making his mouth dry.

"That's what you need, isn't it, sugar?" He shook his head in almost frantic denial. It wasn't like that with Marie. He wouldn't let it be.

Her hand hand snaked under his shirt, gently rubbing the skin of his belly as her molasses-sweet voice rasped equally seductively over his ears. "You're fightin' yourself again, Logan, an' you don't hafta. You want this. To be in control. To show me that you're alpha. That I belong to you. Jus' you.  _That's_  what you need."

God, her words were twisting him in knots, sending his lust flaming higher even as he tried to deny the truth of them. He couldn't want that, could he? He _shouldn't_ want that.  He shook his head again, but she was moving closer, her breath on his neck now, her body just a fraction of an inch from his. "It's okay, sugar. I belong to you." He felt the growl rising up in him again, her words unleashing something dark and primal within him.

She moved the last inch, until her body was pressed against his, the whole length of him. Her lips moved against his skin now, a lick of her tongue and then a whisper, giving him permission, allowing him freely something he couldn't even admit to himself that he craved. "You want control of me for a little while..." she whispered. "That's okay, sugar. You  _take it_."

* * *

[This chapter owes a lot to a dark and lovely little story called "Comfort" by the author "M Jules". It can be found on the Wolverine Rogue Fanfiction Archive. :-D You'll see the connection if you read it. I don't follow the comics much so I don't know the Hydra storyline and I hadn't really known much about the mind control employed in Weapon X, but it makes a lot of sense that Logan would have a pretty extreme reaction to not being in control. Thanks for sticking with my story, and if you're still here, please review!]


	31. The Affirmation

 

“You want control of me for a little while...” she whispered.  “That’s okay, sugar.  You _take it_.”  

His body pressed against the full length of hers as it was, she felt the shudder run through him at her words, and then the change in him.  Even with the wall at his back he had been pulling away — reluctant, trying to deny what they both knew he needed.  Now the hands that had been pushing her away suddenly tightened on her upper arms as a deep growl of warning rumbled through his chest.

“Be sure, baby,” he warned, the hoarse rasp of his voice sending a shiver of lust up her spine.

“Oh, I’m sure, sugar,” she drawled against the damp skin of his neck.  He was on the edge; it wouldn’t take much to push him over, and she knew just how to do it.  Her mouth was already against his skin and so it was easy to catch him unaware, the sharp nip of her teeth at his throat a challenge that could not go unanswered.  

There was a blur of motion and when she got her bearings again their positions were reversed  — her back against the wall, his body pressed up against hers, pinning her in place.  She couldn’t keep from smiling in victory, her tongue flicking out to capture the taste of him from her lips — the taste of sweat and skin and the slightest trace of blood exploding across her tongue.  Her newly heightened senses were humming, her pulse speeding as the musky scent of his arousal filled the air.

His golden eyes narrowed on her mouth as his hands slid slowly, deliberately down her bare arms until he had one of her wrists grasped firmly in each of his fists.

“Clever girl,” he muttered, his hot breath warm against her skin.  “Tryin’ to make my mind up for me, huh?”

Anticipation started to uncurl inside her, slow and hot.  She couldn’t help leaning forward, trying to brush his lips with hers, but he pulled back, a hint of mischief in his eyes now.  

“Nuh uh,” he rumbled.  “You already forgettin’ what you asked for?”

Lost in the molten gold of his gaze, it took a minute for her to realize the question wasn’t rhetorical.  He was watching her carefully, waiting for an answer.

After a moment’s consideration, she simply nodded.  Yes, she had forgotten.  And _yes_ , this is what she had asked for.  She knew that she had reached an understanding with the Wolverine, made him secure in his claim on her.  But the man, Logan — he still had doubts.  He needed to know also, that she was his, body and soul, just as he was hers.

She saw the shift in him — the last of his reservations melting away with her assent.  He gave her a quick nip, his tongue darting out to swipe her lip where she had licked it, before he pulled back again.

“Good girl,” he said, the raw heat in his voice making her squirm a little in his grasp.  “Always so honest, aren’t you?”

She gave that question the consideration it deserved as well.  Was she?  Not with anyone else, not like she was with him.  She was direct with others, but always there were barriers, and misrepresentation.  Pretending to be happy, pretending not to hurt...

“With you,” she finally said.

That brought something out in him.  He grunted with both surprise and satisfaction, the skin sharpening over his cheekbones as his gaze blazed into her.

“That’s right,” he breathed into her ear, rocking his body gently into hers, a lazy, purposeful grind that sent liquid pleasure coursing through her veins.  “Just with me.  No hidin’ with me, no pretendin’.  Nobody else sees what I see, do they?”

She shook her head, and he rewarded her with a kiss — deep, and soft, and slow.  When he finally pulled back she was breathless and a little dizzy.

“No one else knows you like this, do they?  Knows every part of you.”

She shook her head again, but this time the response pulled a growl from him.  

_“Say it,”_ he rasped.

She heard the ragged need in her own voice.  “Just you, sugar.  No one else.”

Another growl, of approval this time, and she just had time to wonder how in the _hell_ he did that and then his hand was touching her, sliding warm and rough down her collarbone, slipping inside the top of her nightgown to cup her breast.

“No one else touches you like this.”  It was a statement, not a question, but the answer spilled from her all the same.

“No one.  Ever.  Only you.”

She dropped her head back against the wall, closing her eyes, losing herself in sensation as he kneaded and then suckled the tender flesh.

With a sudden movement he yanked the thin straps of her nightgown down her arms, baring her to her waist.  Then his warm hands were behind her shoulder blades, arching her forward as he devoured her, the stubble of his beard rasping her tender skin.

She hadn’t even realized her hands had come up to cradle his head, drawing him closer to her, until suddenly he pulled back.  He pushed her back against the wall, his hands once again firm on her upper arms.

“Forgettin’ again, darlin’?” he teased.

She almost whimpered in frustration.

“Don’t pout, baby,” he said with mock sternness, sucking briefly on the lower lip she hadn’t even realized was protruding.  “You be good for me, and I’ll give you what you need.”  He leaned forward again, the push of his body against hers and the slow slide of his lips over hers making her moan into his mouth before he pulled back again, his eyes dark and intent.  “Can you do that for me, baby?”

She nodded, struggling to keep her hands at her sides when her whole body cried out to touch him.

“I know you can, darlin’,” he murmured tenderly.  “Now where were we?”

He took a step back and she immediately felt the loss of his warmth against her.

“Take it off,” he commanded, his words sending her a sweet rush of excitement thrumming through her body.

She obediently pushed the silky nightgown all the way past her hips, giving a little shimmy for good measure to send it puddling to the floor.  She saw his breath catch, and smiled a little inwardly, knowing he wasn’t as unaffected as he appeared.

It must have shown on her face.

“Sassy, aren’t you?” he observed, his eyes narrowing.  He smiled darkly, and she felt her heart skip a beat.  “Let’s see what we can do about that...”

Suddenly contrite, she hooked her thumbs on the edge of her panties, but his voice halted her actions.

“Leave those,” he barked.  She froze, her eyes flying to his at his tone.  “For now,” he added, more gently, his eyes hot with promise.

She dropped her hands to her sides again, her knees suddenly weak.  He took the step towards her again, so close to her that his breath mingled with hers.  She closed her eyes and waited for the feel of his lips against hers, wanting it desperately, needing to taste him again.  And waited, and waited...

She finally opened her eyes with a mewl of disappointment.  His lips quirked.   _Damn him_ , she thought, and then her thoughts scattered as he dragged his warm hands from her shoulders, down, down, stroking gently down her arms until he once again held a wrist in each hand.     
   
Slowly, languidly, he drew her arms up until he held both of her wrists above her head in one large hand.  She saw his breath grow ragged, a low growl rumbling from him at the way she looked.  She could imagine what he was seeing — her creamy skin laid bare to his gaze, her breasts lifted and displayed to him by the position he held her in.

She felt the sweep of his eyes like a physical caress over her body.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice gravelly with need.  His other hand now followed the path of his eyes, stroking and petting, thumb rasping across her taut nipples before tracing a leisurely line down her belly.  Holding her wrists firmly cuffed in one hand, he used the other warm palm to press her thighs open, rumbling his approval as she shifted her stance under his wordless direction.

“So sweet,” he murmured.  “The way you look...”  His dark gaze wandered unhurriedly over her again, heating her cheeks and sending a flush down her neck.

He dipped his head and she felt the rush of his breath against her hypersensitive skin as he inhaled.  “The way you smell...”

His hand traced down her belly, skating inside the front of her panties, a quick slick caress that pulled an incoherent noise from her.  “The way you sound...”  His fingers slid over her again and then plunged inside her, pushing the breath from her body.

She watched in helpless fascination as he pulled his hand free.  His eyes burned into hers, intent and golden, as his tongue came out to deliberately lap at his fingertips.  “The way you taste...”

It was too much.  She felt something fracture inside her and she pulled against his grip, urgent little cries of frustration escaping her as he held her firmly, stretched and suspended in his unyielding grasp.

“Shhh, darlin’,” he soothed, his raspy voice sending another shock of pleasure through her.  “I’ll make it better.  But I want to look at you a little more first.”

He captured her moan of dismay in his kiss, drawing her tongue into his mouth, suckling gently on the tip.  She couldn’t help herself, she grew pliant against him, and she heard him purr with approval.

He drew back again, his molten gaze dragging slowly up her body until he met her eyes again.  “No one else sees you like this, do they?  So sweet.  So wet and wantin’.”  His voice was low and gravelly, rough with his need.  She could tell he was reaching the end of his restraint, his breath coming in harsh pants now.  

She found her voice again.  “No one.  Just for you.”

Another growl, ground out through gritted teeth this time, as his control seemed to snap.  He slammed his body into hers, dropping her hands from his grasp so that he could lift her up against him, the rough denim of his jeans rasping against her inner thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist.  “Fuck, darlin’,” he muttered into her neck.  “You make me crazy when you say that.”  

He lifted his head, his golden eyes fierce.   _“Mine,”_ he snarled.  “ _My_ Marie.”

She gave herself up to the luscious feeling welling up as he ground against her.  “Yes, sugar,” she gasped out, feeling the pressure within herself starting to build to unbearable levels.  “ _Oh!_  Yours.  Only yours.”

She heard the snick of his claw and then he was cutting the panties off her body.  She fumbled between them to open the buckle of his belt and the fly of his jeans, frantic now.

“Tell me what you need,” he groaned, as she wrapped her fingers around him, her hand stroking him greedily.

She answered without hesitation.  “You.  Inside me.”

“Fuck, yes, Marie.”  Then he was pushing inside her, filling her completely, so hot and hard and _oh God_...

“Tell me,” he ground out again as he started to stroke, achingly slow and deep and just right, just _there_...  
   
She knew what he wanted to hear and she was deliriously happy to say it, couldn’t even stop the words from falling from her lips, as long as he never stopped, please never stopped...

“Only you, Logan.  The only one who touches me.  The only one who sees me.  The only one who knows me...”

She felt like she was losing the boundaries of her own body.  Nothing existed except the sound of him, the smell of him, and oh, god, the feel of him, driving deep within her, shaking her to pieces and making her whole all at the same time.

He was growling incessantly now, quickening his pace to short sharp thrusts that seemed to pierce into the very heart of her.  She felt the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in her belly and she scraped her nails down his back, desperate for just a little more.

“Ah, fuck, Marie.  That’s it, baby.  So close, darlin’...”  His hoarse voice pushed her that little bit higher, closer to the edge.  “C’mon, baby...come for me, darlin’.  Come.”

Her hands clenched against his skin, her thighs tightening convulsively around his waist as she felt the wave rush over her, shock after shock of almost unbearable pleasure rippling through her body.  

He was fierce, relentless, pounding into her, his breath huffing against her neck in choked growls and snarls.  She felt the last of herself unraveling as she clung to him, feeling him lose the rhythm.  A few more staccato thrusts and he was howling his release against her skin, shuddering as he seemed to pour himself into her.  

She felt the slide of the wall behind her back as he seemed to crash to his knees in slow motion.  He ended up kneeling with her in his lap, her arms and legs still wrapped around him because she didn’t even have the strength to loosen them.

She held him tightly to her as the last of his shudders eased.  His whole body seemed to relax as he slumped against her.  She felt an easiness to his muscles that hadn’t been there since Proteus.  He gently rested his forehead against hers, their panting breaths mingling.

“Jesus _fuck_ , Marie,” he finally breathed.  He lifted his head and looked at her with dazed eyes.  “You okay, baby?”

“Mmmmmmmmm.”  The satisfied, sleepy hum and the accompanying smile were all she had the energy to produce as she finally let him go, sliding down his thighs until she could rest her head back against the wall.  “Just...let’s rest here for a minute.  Or a day.”  

He huffed a relieved laugh, settling himself back against the wall next to her and then pulling her sideways into his lap.  She pressed her head against his shirt, realizing only now that he had stayed pretty much fully dressed.  She, on the other hand, was naked and sore and slick with sweat and sex.  She felt thoroughly debauched — both wanton and well-loved — and she decided that she liked the feeling a hell of a lot.  In fact, she might just stay here, cuddled up against Logan’s warm body, feeling deliciously depraved, until the end of time.

He rested his face in her hair.  She could feel him breathing her in, soothing himself with her scent.  Finally, he spoke, his voice hushed and wondering.

“How did you know?”

She shrugged.  “I’m not sayin’ it’s the same, or nearly as bad, but I think I’ve felt a little of what you’re feelin’.  Out on the road, havin’ trouble just keepin’ myself alive.  The guys who offered me rides would always want...somethin’ in return.  And then Magneto had me in that damned machine of his, screamin’ and helpless.  When I first got to the mansion, all shredded up and burned, I felt like there was nothin’ else in life for me.  That everyone was just gonna be usin’ me for one thing or another.  Even Professor Xavier — I was so suspicious of him, thinkin’ that he was just healin’ me up so he could use my mutation on his side of that damned mutant war.  Puttin’ a prettier front on it, but just like Magneto underneath.”

She smiled at the memory.  “I finally flat-out told him I was on to him, and I’d be hittin’ the road as soon as I could, and if he thought he could stop me then he better think twice.  The man’s a world-class telepath, and I’ve never seen him so shocked in his life.”

She could see it in her mind’s eye, his jaw gaping for a moment before he snapped it shut, the keen blue eyes suddenly warm with empathy.

“It took awhile for him to really convince me, but he was tellin’ the truth.  He really just wanted to help me, an’ what I did when I was better was my own choice.  The reason he was pushin’ me to rehab...not just fixin’ what was broken, but learnin’ to fight an’ all that...it wasn’t to prepare me for the team.  Or at least not only for that.  He knew what I was feelin’, knew how sick I was of being everybody’s damn victim.  He wanted me to learn that it didn’t have to be that way.  That I could take control of my own life.  Make my own choices, maybe even defend myself if I had to in a way that didn’t drive me near crazy doin’ it.  An’ at the same time he helped me get control of my head, get the personalities in line.”

“Control,” he repeated thoughtfully.

“Yeah.  Control.”  She shrugged again.  “You needed it.  I wanted you to have it.”  She couldn’t help smiling against his chest.  “An’ I can’t help but think it worked out pretty damn well for both of us.”

He laughed softly, giving her a soft smack on her bottom.  “Sassy.”

“You got that right,” she agreed cheerfully.

She pulled back to look into his eyes, suddenly serious.  “Logan, when we go back to the mansion...things’re gonna be weird for a little while.  It’s a lotta new people, and a whole big history I have there.”  She smiled again, thinking about Jubilee’s likely reaction.  “An’ I can guarantee you that my friends are gonna be giant pains in the ass, without meanin’ to.”  

She had a sudden image of Jean, elegant and flawless in a way Marie had known she would never be, always making her feel clumsy and gauche.  She nuzzled back into Logan’s shirt, embarrassed by the twinge of jealousy toward someone he had never even met.  “I just don’t want things to change between us.”

“You think your friends won’t like me,” he said, his voice resigned, and she almost clipped his chin jerking her head up in surprise.  

“Dammit, Logan, just the opposite.  There are some crazy hot women livin’ at that mansion.  I can’t help feelin’ that you might see them an’ realize I’m nothin’ special in comparison.”

The total disbelief on his face was comfort enough.  “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right?”  His hand came up to cradle her cheek, his eyes turning tender as he looked into hers.  “Like I could ever look at anyone else.”

“Aw, Logan.”  She couldn’t help kissing him then, feeling his love for her in every moment until they finally broke apart, breathless.  “That’s what I mean.  I _do_ know that, I really do, but then I remember bein’ back at that mansion, all gangly an’ insecure, gettin’ dumped by the guy I was with for somebody else.  Like I said before, you know me — all of me — but I’m different here.  Different with you.  There I’m Rogue, and I’m gonna hafta figure out how to make it work all over again.”

She squeezed him tightly.  “I gotta be sure of you, an’ you gotta be sure of me, if we’re gonna face all that.  I know that we are, here, but once we get back there we gotta help each other out if...if we forget.”

His eyes were serious as he examined her face.  Suddenly, he reached under the neck of his shirt, pulling his tags over his head.  He carefully placed the chain over her head, settling the tags in the valley between her bare breasts.

“Logan!” she breathed, wrapping her fingers around the warm metal.  “Are you sure?  I know what these mean to you...the only clue to your past...”

“Fuck my past,” he growled.  “I don’t think there’s a thing in it worth a damn.”  His hard expression softened again as he looked at her, the golden glow of his eyes spreading heat inside her body.  “Marie, you know I’m no good with words.  But everythin’ I have, little as it is...everythin’ I _am_.  It’s yours now.  Has been for awhile.”  He tugged gently on the chain, the corner of his mouth quirking in that adorable half-smile of his.  “Just makin’ it official.”

She had to kiss him at that, diving for his mouth, losing herself in the feel and taste of him.  When she came up for air she found to her surprise that she was straddling his lap again.  She gave an experimental wiggle.  She wasn’t sore anymore, or even tired, and he was rock hard against her.

She looked at him in surprise and then smiled, wiggling a little more for good measure.  “God bless a healin’ factor.”

“Sassy,” he teased again.

She wrapped her legs around his waist.  “You know it.  Now get us upstairs to bed, we have some celebratin’ to do.”


	32. The Arrival

Jubilation Lee sat in the window seat on the second floor of the mansion, nestled snugly into the bowfront window directly above the mansion's grand entrance. She held a book open in her lap, but she hadn't turned a page in the last hour. No, instead she watched the drive. Something Big was going to happen, and she wasn't going to miss it.

She knew what those at the mansion who didn't know her very well thought of her. Jubilee the Gossip, Jubilee the Mall Rat. Allowing others to underestimate her  _—_  it was practically an art form by now. Those on the team with her, of course, knew better.

It wasn't just the body and reflexes of a gymnast that made her such an asset to the team, and her mutation was small potatoes compared to some of the others. No, what made her so talented  _—_  both as resident gossip and as teammate  _—_  were the big ears and sharp eyes that accompanied her big mouth. Nothing escaped her observation  _—_  not at the mansion, and not in the field.

She noticed the day that Xavier had received a cell phone call  _—_  a rarity in itself  _—_  and had withdrawn to his study to take it. Collecting information was second nature to her, and so she had loitered in the paneled hallway  _—_  no other place to be, really  _—_  as Hank hustled into Xavier's study a while later, emerging so lost in solemn thought that he almost bumped into her as he left. And then Xavier himself, pale and drawn, and the sudden callback of Scott and 'Ro from Europe, the hunt for Proteus apparently ending as pre-emptorily as it had begun.

Jubilee had put those pieces together just fine. She wasn't sure what Hank's role was, but Proteus was dead, or at least recaptured, and the Professor was taking it hard. And hadn't that been a shock to them all, the Professor having a son all this time, with Dr. MacTaggart no less! Not having sniffed out  _that_  gossip out on her own still peeved Jubilee a little.

So Proteus was done for. Case closed. And yet that was just the start of it. Next came new visitors to the Professor's study. Men with callused hands and contractor's clipboards, and if there were any renovations planned in the mansion Jubilee would have known of it. Instead the construction trucks rumbled out to the old gamekeeper's cottage, a good ten miles from the mansion through barely-there woodland trails, and Jubilee wouldn't even have known about it if that flying girl hadn't spotted them and told Peter who told Bobby who told Kitty who told Jubes...

And now recently...the weather had turned, the latest warm snap finally sending the piles of snow to melting, and as they did Xavier became more alert, more vigilant, often lingering at the window of his study overlooking the drive. He was expecting someone.

Yes, Something Big was definitely going to happen, and Jubilee wouldn't miss it for the world.

The crunch of tires on gravel pulled Jubilee from her musings. She looked eagerly out the window, her breath fogging the glass, and all thoughts of Xavier's mystery disappeared. She recognized that Jeep  _—_  Rogue was back!

She flew down the stairs, wrenching open the heavy front door and leaving it carelessly ajar behind her. She skidded a bit in the gravel, coming to a stop as the driver's side door swung open.

She hardly recognized the woman who stepped out. It was Rogue of course, but...different. More confident, or something. Practically glowing. And...

Jubilee shrieked in excitement, jumping up and down on the gravel.

"No gloves! Seriously, chica? Can I try?"

Rogue held out a bare hand, and Jubilee touched it tentatively for just a moment before pulling her into a full-body hug. "Damn, girl, you actually  _did_  it! The others are gonna  _flip_!"

She pulled back, smiling up into Rogue's face, watching her mouth slide up in a shy answering smile.

Jubilee's brow furrowed in confusion as she looked closer. "You got contacts? I mean, they're cool and all, but I thought you were saving the makeover for..."

The sound of another car door opening made Jubilee jump. She turned, and...

"Hol-eee  _fuck_ ," she breathed. The glare of sunlight off the windshield had hidden the presence of a passenger, but now Jubilee was treated to the sight of tall, dark, and brawny coming around the front of the car, pulling Rogue close into his side as if she fit there naturally. Jubilee covered for an actual weakness in her knees by making a dramatic gesture of tottering back, throwing her hand up against her forehead as if she were swooning.

"No. Fucking.  _Way!_ " she squealed as Rogue blushed, tilting her head into the man's shirt in apparent embarrassment. "Who! What! _How!"_

"Jubilee, this is Logan," Rogue supplied, her voice a mixture of suppressed laughter and suppressed irritation with which Jubilee was quite familiar. "We've been together for...awhile."

The man stood steadily, his arm around Rogue, his piercing golden gaze on Jubilee as she looked him over unabashedly from his wild hair to the hem of his oh-so-tight blue jeans.

"Man, oh  _man_ ," she finally decreed. "I'd have learned to touch too if I had  _that_  waiting for me at the other end."

"Jubes!" Rogue was openly laughing now, both scandalized and amused. She looked up into the man's eyes and he gazed down into hers, his expression turning tender as they seemed to share a private joke.

Jubilee felt her eyes prickling with tears, a lump gathering in her throat, and she covered as she always did, with a stream of chatter, turning back toward the mansion.

"C'mon in and spill it, chica, people are gonna be so amazed, Bobby is gonna have a  _fit_..."

She heard a rumble and stopped, looking up into the sunny sky. The sound of thunder with a blue sky like this usually meant 'Ro was in a mood. She had seemed happy enough earlier, Jubilee wondered what had happened  _—_  but then again the sound seemed to be coming from much closer...

She stopped in her tracks, turning to look at the man again.

" _Dude_. Are you  _growling_?" she asked, her mouth gaping open before she realized and shut it with a snap.

The sound cut off suddenly.

"Jubes, can you give us a minute?" Rogue asked, her voice more clearly on the side of irritation now.

Jubilee met her eyes and found herself looking away. They were so bright now, so fierce, the sunburst of gold striking amongst the coffee-brown. What was  _up_  with that, anyway?

"Yeah, sure," she muttered. "I can take a hint."

She took all of five steps away before turning back to watch the two of them avidly. Rogue had the man's stubbled cheek cradled in her hand, her thumb caressing his face as she spoke softly to him. The words were pitched too low for even Jubilee to catch, damn her.

As Jubilee watched, Rogue unbuttoned another button at the neck of her shirt, spreading the collar of it a little until Jubilee saw a glint of metal in the gap. Whatever the man  _—_   _Logan_ , Jubilee reminded herself  _—_  saw seemed to calm him too. He pressed his fingers there for a moment, seeming to touch something under Rogue's shirt, and some of the watchful tension left his body. Rogue gave him a quick kiss, and then they both turned toward the mansion again.

Jubilee swallowed hard, her throat feeling a little too thick again. Rogue had always been so guarded. Seeing her like this  _—_  openly affectionate, glowing with happiness  _—_  was amazing. It almost made Jubilee believe in true love again.

And at the very least, it was damn good gossip. The scoop of the century, and Jubilee had it. She smiled to herself as she pushed the door to the mansion all the way open, leading the lovebirds in.

* * *

  
It was more than an hour later by the time Marie and Logan were able to break away from the flurry of introductions and blatant scrutiny of the mansion residents.  Marie shut the door to her room behind her with relief as Logan sank into her big leather armchair.

“You okay?” she asked him, curling up in his lap.

He buried his face in her hair, taking a deep breath before letting it out in a long soft exhalation.  “Better now.”

She sighed.  “They’ll calm down as soon as the novelty wears off, I promise.  And we’ll find a place of our own as soon as we can.”

He pulled her closer, breathing deep, rolling his shoulders a little to try to get the tension out.  “S’okay.  It’s just...a lot of people.”

“I know.”  She nuzzled into his neck a little.  “I missed my friends, but I like it when it’s just the two of us.”

“Yeah.”  He rumbled in pleasure as she nipped at his neck a little bit.  “This place is better.  Smells like you.”

She smiled against his skin.  “It’s a little surreal, you know?  Havin’ you here, in my room, with all my stuff?”  She tipped her head up to meet his eyes.  “All the time I spent alone in here...I never thought I could be so lucky.  Havin’ someone like you...bein’ able to touch...it seems like I’m gonna wake up any second now an’ realize it was all a dream.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around her, holding her close.

They sat quietly for awhile.  Even with silence between the two of them, the sounds of the mansion filtered through the door.  Thumping footsteps in the hallway, voices calling outside.  Marie’s stomach was still roiling a little from the flood of smells.  She was finding the mansion hard enough to adjust to with her new heightened senses and she had lived here for years.  She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Logan after his years of solitude.  She could feel his muscles twitch with every new sound.

“The Professor is supposed to be back from his meeting in a couple of hours.  We’ll meet with him and see what he thinks can be done about Proteus, and then we’ll take a long walk, okay?  The woods are really beautiful around here.  I think you’ll like it.”

He grunted his acknowledgement.  She could see that he was working up to saying something, and she waited patiently.  He always seemed to have a harder time with words when he was tense.

“Marie,” he finally muttered.  “I’m sorry I’m like this.”

“What?”  She looked at him in puzzlement.  “What do you think you have to apologize for, Logan?”

He shrugged, avoiding her eyes.  “I can’t be...easy...with people.  They’ll know there’s somethin’...”  He hesitated, and his voice was rough when he spoke again.  “Somethin’ not right about me.”

“Sugar.”  She tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice.  “There’s not a thing in the world wrong with you.  There’s nothin’ about you that isn’t perfect to me.  You think I care about that?  That I want some smooth talker like that Gambit person we met?”

His growl was answer enough.  The smarmy Cajun had apparently been recruited while she had been gone, and hadn’t bothered to hide the interest in his eerie red-on-black eyes when he was introduced to Rogue.

“I’ll tell you what people were thinkin’ about you, Logan.  The guys were thinkin’ that you’re a hell of a badass, and probably wonderin’ how they could get you on the team.  And the women — and maybe a few more of the guys — were thinkin’ mostly about how good your ass looks in those blue jeans.”  

Logan made a disbelieving noise.  

“I’m tellin’ ya.”  She tried to keep the jealousy out of her voice, not entirely successfully.  “I thought Jeannie’s eyes were gonna pop out of her head.”

His brow furrowed.  “Which one was she again?”

Marie couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she gave him a deep, slow kiss.  “I really, really, love you, you know that?” she murmured into his mouth.

“‘Cause I can’t keep your friends straight?”

“Mmmmm.  Exactly.”

He wound his fingers in her hair, taking charge of the kiss.  She was gasping for air by the time they finally broke apart.

“A few hours, huh?” he rumbled.

She smiled.  “At least.  How ‘bout we make the bed smell like both of us in the meantime?” **  
**  



	33. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Note: If you're reading this as I post, go back and look at Chapter 32 again -- I added to the end. It fit better there than at the beginning of this chapter]

 

 

 

“Come in.”

Marie shot Logan a reassuring smile before pulling open the door to Xavier’s study.  Logan tried to tamp down on his instinct to go first, or even better yet to just throw Marie over his shoulder and hightail it out of this damn place.  Marie had repeatedly assured him that Xavier wouldn’t poke around in his mind uninvited, but he still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of a telepath getting anywhere near him.  His mind had been fucked with plenty already.

Still, he followed her through the door into the spacious study.  Sunlight streamed through the windows, bringing a mellow warmth to the dark-paneled walls and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.  The room smelled like sun-warmed leather and dry parchment, seasoned with Earl Grey tea and the faintest hint of cigar smoke.  Logan stayed within reach of Marie, trying to dismiss the thought that his scuffed boots were stepping on a carpet that probably cost more than he would ever see in a lifetime.  The Professor himself sat behind a massive desk, cleared of everything but a blotter and tea set.

“Professor,” Marie said warmly, but Logan sensed her small hesitation, smelled her uncertainty as the Professor continued to study the bottom of his teacup for a moment.

Finally he lifted his head, his keen blue eyes startlingly clear in his pale face.  One look at those eyes and Logan could suddenly sense the power thrumming through the man, the unrelenting force of the mind behind the elderly facade.

“Do sit down,” the Professor invited graciously, although lines of tension tautened the skin at his temples.

He poured tea for them all in silence.  He handed a teacup and saucer to Marie, and Logan saw a slight flush of pink tinge his pale cheeks as the tremor in his hand set the cup to rattling against the saucer.

“Professor,” Marie said, distress in her voice as she put the cup and saucer aside and grasped his trembling hand in her own steady grip.   _“Charles.”_  

Xavier closed his eyes for a moment, his face drawn with lines of anguish, and when he opened them again his eyes were clouded with regret.  

“Rogue.  You were always more generous in spirit than anyone could ask.”  He squeezed her hand and then let go, sighing heavily before turning his gaze to Logan.  “And Logan.  I regret more than I can say that we should meet under such circumstances.  That my...that my own family should have been the cause of such pain to you both.  It is...inexcusable.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Marie chided gently.  “Professor, you have done more for me than I could ever repay.  Proteus’s actions were his own.  You can’t hold yourself responsible...”

“Can’t I?” Xavier interrupted sharply.  A look of chagrin crossed his face.  “Please forgive me.  I find my manners to be sadly wanting at present.”  He took a sip of his tea, appearing to brace himself for the conversation ahead.

“When you first notified me of what had occurred, months ago...”  He shook his head.  “I thought by now I would be more prepared for this discussion, but instead I find myself to be...” the corner of his mouth tipped up in a wry smile that failed to reach his eyes.  “...confoundingly unnerved.”

He took a deep breath, his voice strengthening.  “Nonetheless, I owe you an explanation, and it is best I begin.”

He took another careful sip of his tea.  “I am sure you were surprised to learn that I ha — have...” — his voice stumbled for a moment, as if unsure of the proper tense — “...a son.”  He didn’t wait for any acknowledgement, his eyes shifting to look out the window as he seemed to sink deeper into thought.  

“Moira and I met at University.  We were very young, and some might say foolish.  David was a surprise, but a happy one.”  

He closed his eyes, giving himself over to the memory.  “I was still learning to control my mutation, adjusting my mental shields to the presence of so many people after a quiet — dare I say solitary — childhood and adolescence.  A wife, and then an infant;  it was a learning experience, but...such a joy.”   A true smile flickered across his face this time.  

“I indulged myself in the pleasure of my son’s mind.  The innocent delights of childhood — the comfort of his mother’s touch, the contentment of a soft bed and a warm bottle of milk.  I experienced all of that, through the touch of my mind to his.  Perhaps for the first time, my mother herself not having been so much a model of nurturing behavior...”

His eyes snapped open, and he cleared his throat awkwardly.  “But I digress.  What I mean to convey is the total shock — the total devastation — I felt when things began to change.”  The lines of sorrow deepened on his face.  “When that gentle, innocent boy began to turn into a cruel and twisted young man.”

Logan saw Marie start to open her mouth to form a denial, but she stifled the motion almost as quickly as she began it.  There was no refuting it;  they had both witnessed the complete remorselessness of Proteus.

“Moira and I began to fight incessantly.  She could not admit — could not bring herself to see — what David was becoming.  She saw only a hint of what was underneath;  the petty thefts, the unrepentant lies.  Even the occasional playground cruelties when he thought he was unobserved — all these things were diminished when viewed through the eyes of his mother’s love.  But I...”

Xavier looked down at his hands, twisting the heavy signet ring on his finger.  “I did not have the luxury of ignorance, of denial.  I looked into the mind of my son, and saw only a monster.  Not fully developed, still incipient, but where there should have been love and empathy and shame...there was only a vast emptiness.”

He sighed heavily, and his shoulders seemed weighted with the burden of that knowledge when he lifted his piercing gaze once again to regard Logan and Marie.

“I was a coward.  I abandoned them.”

Marie made a noise of distress, her head shaking in refusal.  “It is true,” Xavier said gently, unflinchingly.  “You and Logan have borne the burden of the decisions I made so many decades ago.  The very least I can do is acknowledge the truth of them.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose briefly as veins throbbed at his temples.  “I had all sorts of reasons at the time.  I told myself that it was just temporary.  That I was building a haven, for all of mutantkind, at Genosha with Erik.  That it was better for Moira if she could maintain her illusions, that it was better for David if I...”

He broke off his words suddenly, before gathering his thoughts and starting again.  “You see, I had begun to meddle.  Looking into my son’s mind, seeing only a gaping chasm where his humanity should have been — I could not discipline myself to remain a passive observer.  Night after night I crept into his brain, trying to instill empathy where there was none, trying to control behavior that he had not the least interest in controlling himself...”

His eyes fluttered shut again with remembered defeat.  “I failed, of course.  It is always so much easier to destroy than to create.  I could decimate a mind with little effort, should I choose to do so, but to create in an individual a quality they fundamentally lack?  It is impossible.  Once I realized that, I told myself that it would be better for David if I left.  That if I stayed, the connection between our minds would only harm us both.”  

Xavier’s pale gaze dragged slowly up again to meet Marie’s eyes, and then Logan’s.  “At the time I called it self-preservation, perhaps even altruism.  But it was sheer cowardice.  And it allowed David’s hatred of me to fester.  Allowed him to kill dozens of people in his quest to destroy me and those that I love, because I had failed to love him enough.  And it has caused you both immeasurable pain.”

“Professor...”  Marie shook her head again, but seemed stuck for words.  She looked helplessly at Logan.

He cleared his throat. He hadn’t planned on saying much, but Xavier seemed aware that Proteus’s actions had affected Logan more than anyone.

“I’m with Marie on this one.  Not your fault your kid was a psychopath.  From what Marie’s told me, if anyone coulda fixed him it woulda been you, so I think you’re right when you say he was beyond fixin’.”

Xavier’s shoulders slumped a fraction as his features softened with relief.  “You are both more generous than I deserve.”

Logan shuffled his feet a little against the patterned carpet.  “I don’t think either of us came here for a reckonin’, Professor.  We just wanna know what to do now.  How to keep that bast — I mean, Proteus — from hurtin’ Marie, and maybe how to put him out of his misery if he really is trapped up there.”

Professor Xavier nodded.  “I believe I can help with that.  If David is simply trapped behind Rogue’s mental walls, even with the assistance of the other individuals in her mind, I will be able to access his consciousness.”

“And then what?”  Logan didn’t want to cause this man more pain, he had been good to Marie, but he needed a straight answer on this.  “Can you do that?  End your own son?”

The Professor raised his ice-blue gaze to meet Logan’s eyes again, letting him see everything — his grief, his regret, but also his inexorable resolve.

Logan nodded curtly.  “Yeah,” he rumbled.  “I guess you can.”

* * *

  
He had stopped screaming weeks ago.  Or was it months?  He didn’t even speak anymore, couldn’t even bother to try to console himself with the sound of his own voice.  He had given himself up to the nothingness, the blur of days without nights and a room made of nothing but walls.

At first it seemed like an apparition, the man who appeared before him.  A figure from the madness of his own mind, and then...

“Da?” he asked, his voice trembling.

The man’s eyes shimmered with tears.  “David.”

“Da!”  He pushed himself to his feet.  He didn’t even try to argue that he was Proteus now.  All he cared about was...

“Get me out of here, Da.  Please!  I know you can.”

Xavier shook his head slowly.  “I am sorry, David.  I cannot.”

“You must!”  He was screaming, and he reined his voice in, pleading now.  “I canna stay here.  Take me back to the island, but...dinna leave me here alone anymore.  I canna do it.”  

“I won’t leave you alone, David.  Never again.”  The anguish in his tone belied the reassurance of his words.

Proteus shook his head even as realization dawned.  “No. _No!_  Dinna do it, Da.  Please.  I dinna mean to...I’m sorry.  Take me home instead.  Please, Da.”

Tears were running down Xavier’s cheeks as he reached out.  “I love you, David,” he murmured.  “Sleep now, my child.”  Proteus felt the warmth of his father’s embrace.  And then he felt nothing.


	34. The Package

 

Logan knocked on the door to Xavier’s study.

“Come in.”

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

“Ah, Logan.  How is Rogue?”

He took a few steps into the room.  “She’s been extra sleepy the last coupla days, but she seems okay.  Says her head feels lighter now, just needs to sleep it off some.”

“Excellent.  I am glad to hear...”  The Professor’s words cut off abruptly, and Logan was surprised by the sudden flush of anger across his face.  His ice-blue eyes glittered dangerously, focusing on the bag slung over Logan’s shoulder, before he schooled his face into a more neutral expression.

“Leaving us so soon, are you?” he asked coldly.

Logan had to smother a smile.  He moved forward until he was standing in front of the desk, pulling the duffel bag from his shoulder, hefting it in both hands.

“You know, Marie said you wouldn’t poke in my head without my permission, but I was never sure until now.”

Xavier regarded him steadily.  “Until now?”

Logan dropped the duffel bag on the desk in front of Xavier, letting it land with a solid thunk.

“If you had ever looked in my head, even for a minute, you would sure as hell know that I’d never leave Marie.”

Understanding lit the Professor’s eyes, a wry smile curling his lips.  “I apologize for my...misjudgment.”

Logan snorted.  “You looked like you woulda jumped out of that chair and kicked my ass if you coulda.”

A sharp, startled bark of laughter escaped the Professor.  “Perhaps it is better for both of us that I cannot, then.”  He looked down at the scuffed bag.  “This is for me then, I take it?”

Logan nodded.

The Professor pulled the zipper open enough to see the stacks of ten- and twenty-dollar bills straining the cotton seams of the weathered duffel before zipping it back up.  

“I pay my own way,” Logan rumbled.  “That’s for stayin’ at your cabin this winter, and for the groceries and stuff.  And for whatever you want for me an’ Marie stayin’ here until we can get our own place.  You let me know if it runs out, and I’ll hit the fight circuit again and get more.”

Xavier looked at Logan thoughtfully.  He gestured to the chair in front of his desk, and Logan sat down.  Xavier poured for them both from the ever-present teapot.

“You know, in the past Rogue has simply chosen to remain here out of convenience.  Her salary, for teaching here and for fighting on the team, is more than adequate to cover living expenses outside the mansion.”  Xavier’s sharp eyes looked at Logan over the rim of his teacup.  “We would be more than happy to add you to our staff as well.”

“To the staff?”  Logan raised a cynical eyebrow.  

Xavier nodded.  “And, if you choose, to the team.  After training, of course.”

“I’m no teacher.  And I’m definitely no X-Man.”

“Not a teacher.  Are you certain of that, Logan?  You certainly taught Rogue to control her mutation, where the rest of us failed.”  The pale eyes lit with amusement.    “And...I understand from her last Danger Room session that she has learned a few other things as well.”

Logan smirked.  Marie had downplayed what happened, but Jubilee had been only too happy to tell him the full story with relish.  She had talked Marie into running through a Danger Room simulation with Kitty and Gambit, and Gambit had taken the opportunity to get too handsy with Marie.  Marie had kicked him in the balls so hard that he had limped for days afterwards.  Logan cornering him later and threatening to send a claw where the sun don’t shine had been an unnecessary — but entertaining — corollary.  Remy had already been avoiding Marie like the plague, caution replacing lust in those devil eyes of his.

“Trust me, Chuck.  She already had that particular move down before we met.”

“Nonetheless.  I had thought perhaps that you might teach self-defense for a start.  Marie also said you have a mechanical turn of mind.  I am sure that Scott would welcome the help with his automotive repair classes.  And as for joining the team...”

He took another careful sip of his tea.  “I know military training when I see it, Logan.”

Logan looked down at his hands, picturing the blades beneath the skin.  Was he capable of something like that — teaching kids, working on a team?  He could fight, that’s for sure, but the rest of it...he just didn’t know.

“May I ask you something, Logan?”  Xavier’s crisp voice interrupted his thoughts.

He looked up.  “Sure.”

“I have known Rogue for many years.  Her trust was hard-won, but she did learn to trust me over the years.  But you...I suspect you do not trust easily as well.  And yet you trusted me with Rogue’s safety.  I had expected you to strenuously object, and yet you allowed me to enter her head.”  His pale brow furrowed a fraction.  “Why?”

“You held her hand.”

“Pardon?”

Logan shifted a little in his chair, trying to get the words right.  “You hadn’t seen her since she got control of her mutation.  Just had her word on it.  But when she took your hand...you didn’t even flinch.  Jubilee’s the same, and McCoy.  Everyone else...even though they know she can control it now, they still shy away from her.  Just habit, I guess, but it hurts her every time to see it.  You didn’t, ‘cause you trust her like that.  Like she trusts you.”

“I see.  You are very perceptive, Logan.”

Logan shrugged.  They sat in silence for awhile.

“When Marie goes on a mission — I’d go too?”

Xavier quirked an eyebrow.  “As I’m sure you know, Rogue is an independent young woman.  I do not think she would appreciate the idea of a...babysitter.”

Logan felt the growl forming in his chest and smothered it.  “It’s not like that between us.  I’ve got her back.  She’s got mine.”

“The team...”  Xavier stopped abruptly as the growl broke free from Logan’s chest.

“The team blasted her outta the sky when she was just a kid.”

Lines of tension appeared around Xavier’s mouth.  “That was regrettable, of course, but the only tactical decision that was possible at the time.”

Logan swallowed down the lump of anger in his throat.  “That’s what I mean.  I may not remember much about bein’ a soldier, but I know that much.  Summers is gonna make the call that works best for the team...that works best for the mission.  I’m always gonna make the call that works best for Marie.  That’s just how it is.”

“You feel it would have happened differently?  If you had been there, when Erik had Rogue in his machine?”

Logan could feel the tips of his claws pressing against the skin of his knuckles and clenched his fists, forcing the muscles of his forearm to relax to keep them inside.  “I know it woulda happened differently.  I woulda cut her outta there with my claws.  Or died tryin’.”

“I see.”  Xavier sat back, a smile flickering at the edges of his mouth.  “It seems as though you have made your decision, then.”

Logan nodded.  “I’ll talk it over with Marie, but I don’t think it’ll be a surprise to her.  And I’ll give it a try.”

“Excellent.”  

Logan turned to go.

“Oh, one more thing, Logan,” Xavier casually said, shuffling some papers out of his desk.  “I understand that you and Rogue have been exploring the woods around the property.”

Logan bristled.  “Yeah.  That a problem?”

Xavier smiled soothingly.  “Quite the contrary.  I was hoping perhaps you could do me a favor.  A package was accidentally delivered to one of the outbuildings instead of the main house.  If your wanderings take you in that direction, could you fetch it for me?  I’ve taken the liberty of marking the location on this map, although Rogue might remember the place.  It’s the old gamekeeper’s cottage.”

Logan relaxed.  “Sure.  No problem.”

Xavier handed over the map.  “I appreciate it.  And Logan...”  The smile reached his eyes, making the pale blue depths twinkle merrily.  “Welcome to the X-Men.”

* * *

  
Marie and Logan rambled through the woods, breathing in the quiet.  

“The gamekeeper’s cottage is just around the bend here, but you’re sure that’s what he said?”

“Yep.”

“I just can’t imagine anyone thinkin’ a delivery would go there.  It’s so out of the way, and the place is a wreck...”

They turned the corner, emerging from the trees into a clearing.

“Oh!” Marie breathed.  “I guess it makes more sense now.  I had no idea Xavier was havin’ this place renovated.  It’s beautiful.”

He grunted his agreement.  Xavier had obviously gone to great effort to maintain the character of the place, seamlessly melding the stone facade with more modern elements like large, airy windows and a new slate roof.

“There’s the package,” he said, gesturing to the front steps.  “Only...”

They moved closer, both of them looking down at the elegant gold box tied in paler gold ribbon.  “This wasn’t a delivery,” Marie said.  “What’s the Professor up to?”

Logan flipped over the tag, barely visible against the identical gold coloring of the box.  “To Logan and Rogue, with my compliments,” he read aloud.  “Professor X.”  He looked at Marie.  “He couldnta just handed it to us at the mansion?”

She shrugged, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.  “Well, I guess we should open it.” She pulled on the pale gold ribbon.  “It’s almost a shame, it’s so prettily wrapped,” she commented, before pulling the lid off the box.

They both peered inside.  “A key?” Logan said.  

She handed it to him.  “Maybe he left us somethin’ inside?  There’re an envelope too, feels like papers in there.  Maybe they explain...”

Logan put the key in the lock and turned, the tumblers clicking smoothly open.  He swung the door open.

The place was just as nice inside as outside.  Sleekly modern in some ways, but still homey, even empty as it was.  It reminded him a lot of the cabin, in fact.  A full wall of windows faced the back of the house, spilling sunlight onto the dark wood floors.

Marie was still looking at the papers, her brow furrowed in confusion.  “Some legal stuff, I think...”

A splash of color caught his attention.  “Marie...look.”

He heard her breath catch in her throat.  “Our paintin’.”  Hung over the fireplace, the only furnishing in the house, was the painting of the woods that Marie had given to Logan at Christmas.

He looked at Marie.  “Is Xavier...is he rentin’ us this place?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide as she looked back at the papers, and he was surprised at the stab of disappointment he felt.  “Logan...he’s givin’ us this place.”

“What?”  

Her smile was incandescent as she held up a paper.  “It’s a deed, signed over to us.  Not just the cottage, but some of the land around it too.  Almost two thousand acres.”

Her eyes grew misty with tears.  “He knew...he knew that we wouldn’t be happy at the mansion.  That we would need a place of our own. He must’ve started the renovation as soon as I called him that first time.”

Logan looked around the warm, sunlit space again, trying to wrap his mind around it.  “This would be _our_ house?”

She gave him a hug.  “This would be our _home_.”  She pulled back, searching his eyes.  “What do you think?”

He picked her up and swung her in a circle.  She giggled in delight and he took her lips with his own, swallowing her laughter in a deep, slow kiss before setting her down.  “I think we should look around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! :-D


	35. The Story

[Author's Note: What's fluffier and more sickeningly sweet than a thousand baby bunny rabbits covered in cotton candy? This ending. Oh well, I can't help myself. I just love these two characters so much, and if a shmuck like me can get a happy ending, they can too. They deserve it. And so do you, dear reader. I had no idea when I started this story that it would be so long, so thanks for sticking with it, and especially all your comments. I hope it was worth the journey.]

* * *

Logan stood amongst the tree trunks, just watching her. Early afternoon sunlight slanted through the trees, dappling her face and body, bringing glints of copper and gold to the fall of her streaked hair. She was singing softly  _—_  her honey-thick voice carrying on the breeze to him in fits and starts, but he knew the song well.

"Pack up all my care and woe...Here I go, singin' low...Bye bye blackbird..."

She stopped, her full bottom lip caught between her teeth, her brow furrowing for a moment as she studied the painting in front of her. She seemed to reach a decision and leaned forward again, the brush caressing the canvas decisively.

"Where somebody waits for me...Sugar's sweet, so is he...Bye bye blackbird..."

He saw the moment she caught his scent. Her head tipped up, her eyes scanning the trees as her lips tilted at the corners in a secret smile. He let a twig crack under his foot and her eyes snapped to his. He watched as the smile spread across her face, warm and wide, making something equally warm blossom in his chest.  _Every damn time_ , he thought to himself.

He saw her eyes drift down toward his knees, and then back up to his face in question. He winked, and she smothered her smile, turning back to her canvas, appearing engrossed in the painting again. He smiled to himself as well, watching her subtly shift her weight, bracing her legs.

"Make my bed and light the light...I'll arrive late toni  _—_  "

"Grrrr!" A small dark shape streaked from the tree line at her side, tackling her knees.

She stumbled back a few steps for his benefit, her voice breathy in mock alarm.

"Oh my goodness! A bear! I've been attacked by a bear!"

Logan loped towards them, grinning, making it to their side in time to see the small face peer up at her.

"Not a bear, mommy. It's me! I was jus' purtendin'," the little voice said earnestly.

"Are you sure?" Logan felt the warmth in his chest spread as Marie dropped gracefully to her knees, careless of the dirty ground. "Let me see. Hmmmm...this seems like the hair of a little boy, not the fur of a bear." Her slender hand ruffled the dark unruly hair, so like Logan's own.

"Let me check some more. These seem like the ears of a boy, not the furry ears of a bear..." She tugged on his ears as he giggled. "And these seem like the hands of a boy, not the paws of a bear." She took his tiny grubby hands in her own, examining them closely. "There's just one more thing I gotta check to be sure."

He squealed in delight, squirming and wriggling as she picked him up in both hands, rucking up his shirt and blowing a raspberry into the tender skin of his belly.

"Hmmmm...definitely the belly of a little boy. Why, I guess you're right. You're not a bear after all!"

"Tol' ya," he giggled with satisfaction, snuggling close into her side as she set him down. She wrapped her arm around him and smiled, her honey-tinted eyes looking at Logan, sharing her delight. "Did you guys have your snack already?"

"Yep," he chimed up before Logan could answer. "We eated it unner'a  _tree_! An' y'know what?"

"What?" Marie asked, widening her eyes at the boy, their mouths identical with smiles of anticipation.

"We founda seff...seff..."

Logan dropped to his haunches by their side. "Sett," he supplied helpfully.

"Seft! For  _badgers_! An' we're gonna go out in the night an' see 'em an' it's gonna be a  _surprise_!"

"Well, that sounds like a lot of fun," Marie answered, her eyes bright with amusement and shared memories as they met his.

"Remind me to tell you the definition of 'surprise' some time little man," Logan rumbled, straightening to his feet and swinging his son up on his shoulders. The boy crowed with delight, fingers tightening painfully in Logan's hair as he leaned down, taking Marie's hands to help her to her feet.

He held her hands a moment longer than he needed to, his right thumb swiping over the slim band on her ring finger. A habit he had picked up, he didn't know why  _—_  almost as if he needed the tactile confirmation that all of this was true, that she was really his. Her hand tightened on his fingers as if she knew what he was thinking and she leaned up, her breath warm on his neck for a moment before she placed a kiss on his jaw.

That habit was her own, and he was suddenly thrown back in his memories to that day, only a week after arriving at the mansion. They had finally sought out Hank, worried that Marie's continued sleepiness was some afteraffect of Proteus's destruction, and instead got a diagnosis that had shocked them both  _—_  pregnancy.

Hank had carefully explained that birth control pills were apparently no match for a healing factor as Logan's heart thudded painfully in his chest. Logan had turned to Marie, his stomach sick with regret, ready to stammer his apologies, the words stopping up in his throat at the look on her face. Surprise, and a little bit of concern, but most of all  _joy_. Joy shining in her eyes, curling her lips even as she looked at him for his response, one hand stealing down to cradle her flat belly.  _She_ _wants_ _this_ , he had realized in stunned wonder. _Wants a baby with_ _me_. And suddenly, fiercely, he had wanted it equally as much.

She must have seen the answer in his eyes, read his possessive pride in the tightening of his arm around her. She leaned up and placed a trembling, shaky kiss right in the curve of his jaw  _—_  too shy to kiss his lips in front of Hank but needing some outlet for the love that was flooding out of her, filling his senses and making his chest feel so full that it was a wonder he could even breathe...

"I don't wanna nap!"

The shrill voice, hovering on the edge of tears, cut through his reminiscences, bringing him back to the present.

"I know you don't, button, but you gotta. Jus' for a little while, an' then we're goin' to the mansion for Lily's birthday party. You remember, we got her a present an' all?" Marie's voice soothed.

" _I_  wanna present," the voice answered, only slightly mollified.

"Well, when it's your birthday you're gonna get some. Way too many, I would guess," Marie said with a smile.

Logan bounced his son on his shoulders a little, enjoying the soft heavy weight of him, potbelly pressed against the back of his head as the sturdy legs dug into his chest. "C'mon, little man," he said, reaching up to loosen the little boy's grip on his hair. "Maybe if you're really good..." He grinned at Marie. "Mommy will tell us the story of how mommy and daddy met."

There was a thoughtful silence from above his head as he started toward the house, pulling Marie against his side as they walked, breathing in the sun-warmed scent of her.

"I'm really good," a plaintive voice finally said, making them both chuckle.

"Well then," Marie said, her eyes warm on Logan's as her hand snuck into his, holding tightly. "It all started when mommy was livin' in the woods, all on her own, an' one day she looked up an' saw this guy, jus' lookin' at her through the trees..."

"Daddy!" the high voice exclaimed in triumph.

"Yep, it was daddy. But he didn't say anythin' that day, he jus' ran away..."

Logan felt the soft drawl of her voice wash over them all, telling their story. The familiar glow of warmth and pride spread, filling him up until he thought it might burst right through his skin, as he ushered his family into their home and shut the door gently behind them.

* * *

[Please review! :-D]

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Taming: Cover Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/899937) by [dr_girlfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_girlfriend/pseuds/dr_girlfriend), [lachlanrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachlanrose/pseuds/lachlanrose)




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